Friends of the ABC

Okinawa

2011-03-27T22:47:00.000-07:00

The day after I returned to Kyoto from a lovely whirlwind trip to Okinawa, I was worn out from laundry and unpacking and a bad cold I’d come down with, so I was lying on my bed with a book. At 2:46 pm I sighed, shut my book, and looked at the clock. I rolled over and took a nap. I wouldn’t realize until nearly 2 hours later that the largest earthquake in Japan’s recorded history had struck the northern Tohoku area just then.

I’m finally starting to realize this happened in the same country—Kyoto is so unaffected, the disaster seems to be just something happening on the TV. At other times I feel so keenly for the Japanese people in trouble; the day after the quake and tsunami I would randomly get weepy. At church we prayed and cried together, and did our best to sing hymns. Then yesterday a dear friend and dorm-mate of mine, Carina, announced she would be going home to Germany in three days. Her parents had lived through Chernobyl; they weren’t taking any chances with the nuclear power plant situation here and wanted her home. That made me really depressed and I thought I might cry again, so I decided to make naan bread. Deep inside me is a very politically incorrect 50s housewife who finds great pleasure and stress relief in cooking for other people. Baking and feeding the results to Stacey, Carina, and Ela cheered me up considerably, and Stacey did something she always does anyway—made me laugh. So now even though a large part of Japan is in ruins and Carina is leaving, I’m at peace and in a much better mood, and think I can write a little bit about Okinawa.

I went there for 5 days with my friend Jenni who hails from Finland. Our plane arrived quite late in the evening but we noticed two things immediately: Okinawa smells good, even in the middle of the city, and the people are friendly (a boy with a long ponytail saw us looking lost and showed us where the hostel was, cars will wait for pedestrians when there’s no crosswalk). In the morning we got up early and met with Jin-san and Seiko-san, my Japanese professor Itomitsu-sensei’s brother and his wife. They were so sweet! They took us to the most beautiful aquarium I’ve ever been to, and down a narrow little village of traditional Okinawan homes, each surrounded by sturdy thick-leaved trees to keep out the constant ocean winds.

They were very patient with our childish excitement over our first Okinawan beach: “The water’s so clear! It’s so warm! Ooh, the sand is full of coral; look at this piece I found!” Seiko-san had come to Okinawa for the first time when she was about our age, and she had acted the same way, Jin-san said laughing. I enjoyed watching the chemistry between them. They were a very cute couple and would sometimes walk arm-in-arm, or share some little inside-joke the humor of which was quite lost on me. Jin-san seemed quieter than his older brother but no less kind. He had a habit of disappearing to get tickets or maps or drinks, and of quietly capturing shining eyes and smiles with his camera. Seiko-san supplied much of the conversation; she was very interested especially in Jenni’s homeland. I learned a lot about Finland and Finnish language as well! Usually Japanese people don’t know anything about Finland, except that the cute character Moomintroll comes from there, doesn’t he? Jenni, who is usually of a silent, Moomin-like presence herself became very talkative with Seiko-san. I was glad about that.

That night it poured, and the next day a blustering wind blew under grumpy clouds that spat rain now and again. I had to give up my dream of seeing red Shuri Castle under a broad blue sky, but we bundled up in almost all the clothes we’d brought and went there anyway. More than any impression of the castle itself I was struck by how much of Okinawa was destroyed in WWII. All that is left of the original castle are some dusty piles of rock that were its foundations. We did enjoy a lovely tea served at the castle, and little cookies that we learned hadn’t changed since the 15th century, when the Ryukyu kings served them to foreign envoys!

We found a tiny rocky path leading down from the castle, I’d heard in the olden days it used to be the main road connecting the castle to the Naha port. We wandered down it along with schoolchildren returning home, and the odd Japanese tourist or two. We came across something that made me so glad I can read Japanese: “Jenni, what does that say…300 year old tree this way?” It was a tiny hand-written sign all smeared with rain. We followed a little path through a residential area to a magical place: A dense green jungle with one the largest trees I’ve seen, an Okinawan-style shrine and more hand-written signs telling stories of the place. The huge akagi trees had grown all over this part of Naha, but only a few survived the Battle of Okinawa in 1945. I imagined it had been sheltered by the great volcanic, vine-draped cliff it grew against. Leaving there we continued along the road and came across another curiosity: a traditional-style Okinawan house, that seemed a few tatami-mats large, with a sign, “Community Rest House, please use freely. Keep toilets clean!” We heard voices from inside and poked our heads in. Two little schoolgirls were there staring at us. “Hello” said the younger one finally. “Konnichi ha,” we replied. “Ooh, they can speak Japanese! Where are you from? Do you know what this is? It’s used in a festival. My dad’s carried one once. Look what I can do, a cartwheel. Can you do cartwheels? Let’s play hide-and-seek!” We spent an hour or so in the little house playing—or rather I did, Jenni, admittedly “not good with kids” sat looking rather confused at their antics and chatter.

The next day the weather was so fine, though I’d planned an itinerary I was tempted to just find a bus to the nearest beach and spend the day on the sand. We went to a very eerie and dark place, after all, the Former Navy Underground Headquarters in Naha—the place where the last resistance of the Japanese military holed up at the end of the Battle of Okinawa. I had had to decide given our limited time between there and the Peace Memorial Park, but thought rather than nice plaques in green lawns I wanted to see something a little more real. The tunnels were presented in a very Japanese style, with pleasant lighting and music throughout. However I loved the pen-and-ink artists’ sketches of what life (and death) must have been like in the tunnels, and the emphasis the museum had on the sufferings of the Okinawan civilians, who were basically enslaved by the Japanese military. But the soldiers suffered too. In one room I put my fingers into pock-marks on the plaster wall before reading the sign “Damage to walls from hand grenade of suicides.” The Japanese military had been indoctrinated to fight to the last man and when defeat was imminent to end their own lives rather than surrender, and the officers in the tunnels had done just that, right where I was standing, a lifetime ago.

After that harrowing place we headed to Okinawa World, a theme park of Okinawan culture. The best thing about it was undeniably the beautiful natural caves under the park—Jenni and I wandered slowly through them for almost two hours, me thinking just a little regretfully of the tropical sunshine above and how we had somehow spent most of the day in caves and tunnels of some kind or another. But we did see a very mysterious creature in a pool there—some kind of large salamander that was definitely not listed on the “nature you might see in the caves” section of the pamphlets we’d received. Duly creeped out, we hurried out of there to watch some traditional pottery-making and glass-blowing. In one of the workshops I tried my hand at Okinawan-style tye-dying. My fingertips were a bit blue for a few days afterwards! The bus ride home was beautiful—a lovely sunset over sugar-cane fields.

I had no plans for the next day, except dinner again with Seiko-san and Jin-san. Both Jenni and I wanted a beach, and to see whales—we’d heard it was their season. We decided on going to Zamami—a tiny island reached by ferry from Naha. The ferry was a small, high-speed affair; Jenni and I clung to the railing on the deck and laughed in sheer joy every time we bounced over a wave, getting amused looks from the apparently more seasoned Japanese passengers. I reveled in the salt spray, the sight of the ocean spreading to a purple haze at each horizon, the high puffy white clouds drifting over us. In under an hour we pulled into the harbor at Zamami, its waters clear and smooth as glass and blue as jewels where it was deep. Green hills rose behind a silent, dusty little town clustered near the harbor. It was just 10:00 in the morning, not a tourist to be seen besides ourselves! “Let’s go find a beach.”

Walking there against the verdant green hillsides, where purple morning glories grew thick in the treetops and black, yellow, and blue butterflies drifted and a Japanese cuckoo called alluringly, we passed a field of sighing sugar cane. The sun came from behind a cloud and its brilliant tropical light seem to hang in the air, having its own gleaming existence between one’s eyes and the surrounding views. “Oh Jenni, we’ve found heaven!”

The beach was empty. White sand stretched to impossibly blue water. A pile of black rocks, crowned with green spiny plants, was a home to schools of tiny silver fish. Jenni and I combed the beach for a few hours, enjoying the variety of shells and corals we usually only see in shops or National Geographic magazines, and then decided the clear water was too much to resist a swim. It was not cold, but the wind on our wet skin was! We stood in the waves up to our thighs, shivering and dreading plunging in all the way, which had to be done at some point. “We are…” began Jenni, and I interjected with “S-s-stupid!” but she didn’t hear me and finished: “…swimming in the East China Sea!” I had to laugh, and plunged into the water at last. The water was so salty, it was easy to float and bob on the waves while gazing at the sky, or just paddle out deep and grow scared at far you could see to the bottom. We got chilled after a few minutes and waited for the sun to come again from behind a cloud before dashing out into the cool wind. We lounged on a pile of rocks to dry. At last I sighed and said regretfully “I guess we should put on some clothes.” We got decent none too soon, the beach wasn’t deserted long and as it was now afternoon a few couples started showing up.

We wandered back to the town to find a place to eat. We’d found a little tourist map listing all four restaurants on the island, all were closed except one, which consisted of a little shed, a green lawn with an awning and three picnic tables covered in neat red-check clothes, and a pretty middle-aged lady who made by hand the two choices on the menu: a pizza or a pasta dish. Also eating there were a very talkative older Japanese gentleman, a Japanese boy who looked about our age who alternated between smirking at the man and toying with an expensive-looking camera, and two foreign girls I assumed were fellow Americans (it turned out were also from Kansai, and what’s weirder, were exchange students from Lewis and Clark University! It was so strange to have met them on a tiny island off Okinawa. I did feel a bit of Linfield pride surge when I realized their Japanese was at a beginning level and heavily accented). The old man was greatly enjoying himself, rattling on in bad English about Zamami’s economic and education problems and how we should all come back here after we graduate to teach English and promote foreign tourism. We laughed and feigned interest (while I suppose the problems faced by the tiny island are real, the old man’s blunt enthusiasm was a bit much!) He made grand plans for us and Zamami while keep our wine glasses full of the lovely Chardonnay he’d treated us all to. The boy Keisuke, who turned out to be a recent college graduate from Osaka, kept silent but every so often I’d catch a gleam of his very pretty, honey-colored eyes from across the table. At last we were released from the old gentleman by the impending arrival of our ferry home. Keisuke walked Jenni and I back to the harbor, where we sat on a warm cement wall and chatted until the ferry came all too soon. He did have such nice eyes.

On the ferry ride home we saw our whale! Just his spout, and broad barnacle-crusted back.

We enjoyed a last sumptuous dinner with Seiko-san and Jin-san. This time the conversation flowed freely and merrily, and by the end I felt I’d made new friends. But the next day we had to catch our flight home. However, our plane didn’t leave until 12:30 in the afternoon, so we slept in and then around 10 went to a gorgeous, Chinese-style garden that was near our hostel. The gleaming reddish-brown wood of the pagodas contrasted so beautifully with the green water of the many ponds and lush Okinawan plant life worked into the scheme of the garden.

We had found that flying within Japan is quick and easy—no need to arrive hours early for long lines at check-in or security! We got to the airport just half an hour before departure and even had time for a last-minute toilet and conbini run before boarding. And then it was farewell to Okinawa—a lovely place I longed to stay and explore longer. Someday, I thought, I will return! Especially to Zamami. Like Nikko, it was a small town of mostly old folks that depends economically on tourism, but visiting in the off-season we found it especially quiet and welcoming, really heaven.

And then I came back to Kyoto, to the TV, to my Facebook page and email on fire with inquiries from close friends and people I haven’t spoken to in years—all wondering if I was alright after the quake. I remembered a saying I’d heard while in Okinawa: nuchidu takara, “life is a treasure.” The Okinawans, who besides natural dangers of island life, experienced the loss of the Ryukyu kingdom and culture, and later the devastation of the Battle of Okinawa, would certainly know a thing or two about life’s preciousness I suppose. Life is a treasure. It can be snatched from you or your loved ones in a moment. This Tohoku Earthquake and tsunami will probably color the rest of my year of study abroad here in Japan. A lot still remains uncertain and I’m already so tired of watching the news, of seeing that dirty muddy tsunami swallowing up neat farmland behind my closed eyes at night. But I am sure of one thing: nuchidu takara!

東京・日光　Tokyo and Nikko! part 1

2011-02-21T09:31:00.001-08:00

The Tokyo Imperial Palace

Nikko—two hours’ train ride from Tokyo in the heart of Tochigi Prefecture; the retreat of ascetics, mentally ill emperors, and city-weary Leahs. But I get ahead of myself.

Before coming to Japan, I was able to receive the Boren Scholarship—a year abroad funded by the National Security Education Program (NSEP) of the U.S. State Department, in return for a year of service in the government after I graduate. About a month before arriving in Japan I received a very surprising email, from Mrs. Suzanne Basalla, the senior advisor to the current Ambassador to Japan, John Roos. “In my last job at the Pentagon we hired a former Boren scholar,” she wrote to all Boren scholars currently studying in Japan, “And I was so impressed I took the liberty of getting your email addresses from NSEP. If any of you ever come up to Tokyo, let me know and we’ll get together for coffee.”

It’s not every day I get invitations to coffee by the Ambassador’s senior advisor, so I decided during Spring Break to make a special trip up to Tokyo again to meet with her. To be honest, I really dreaded it. I heartily dislike Tokyo. I’m not quite sure why; maybe it’s the sheer amount of people and lack of greenery that get to me. It was when I returned from Tokyo the first time that I realized how rather than Japan in general, my heart was given to Kyoto.

Having seen all the sights I had wanted to see in Tokyo back in November, and since my Tokyo friends were busy, I thought I would just go up on the overnight bus, meet with Mrs. Basalla, and then head back to Kyoto the same day. It would be exhausting, but I didn’t feel like exploring the city alone again. But then an idea came into my head. “Nikko. I could stay there. I’m going all the way to Tokyo; I might as well make use of it!” I ran a search of Nikko hostels and in the process found some great deals on a 4-day train and bus pass. I remembered reading somewhere a Japanese proverb “Never say ‘magnificent’ until you have seen Nikko.” The name brought to mind images of dark forests, cold, clear air; mountains. Yes, I was very much in need of some mountains. I was a bit nervous about traveling alone. “You never know,” said my friend Stacey, “You might meet some cool people.” I almost snorted. “I’m not going there to meet people, just to get my mountain fix and tree-worship in,” I laughed, though when I said it I thought how I’d never done something so utterly self-indulgent as traveling alone someplace with the sole goal of relaxing. It felt a bit selfish. Oh well, I defended myself, I’m in Japan, I have to be a good exchange student and step out from time to time and explore.

This time I was rather less nervous about traveling to Tokyo. I’d done it before; I was more confident and more sure things would run smoothly. Someone very important was deigning to meet with me; and I had visions of towering cedars dancing in my head. I leaned back as far as I could in the narrow seat of the overnight bus as the driver walked the aisle counting us, the polite motion of his white-gloved hand recalling a priest bestowing some kind of blessing. In the morning in Tokyo the train to the Embassy arrived and opened its doors with a chime of cheery-sounding music to commemorate the small miracle.

Mrs. Basalla was very kind and accepted my tardiness (I had gotten a little lost in Shinjuku after all) and my dress, which admittedly was foreign-tourist-walking-all-day wear and not interview-with-the-Ambassador’s-advisor dress. Our conversation was very nice. Talking with her was like talking with a kind professor from back at Linfield. She was interested in my studies and told me stories of her own experience studying abroad in Japan as a college student. She also explained the best ways for a Boren scholar to get hired somewhere. It turns out position in Japan are rare—especially because a typical beginning salary often isn’t enough to cover housing—but that my best bet might be the Intelligence community, since they hire young people and give the coveted and tricky security clearance needed for so many government jobs. She also sprung an interesting question on me. “It’s really dismal how few young Japanese are studying abroad to the U.S. A lot of the current business and government leaders in Japan now studied in America, and that gives them if not a positive view of America at least a balanced one. The Ambassador and I are really trying to brainstorm creative ideas for attracting more Japanese students to the U.S. Do you have any ideas?”
I caught in her voice the anxiety of the U.S. government over a Japan growing more independent—or more insular. I decided not to voice my opinion that WWII was years ago and Japan was its own country after all, and instead simply complained. “Part of the problem might be Japanese attitudes towards college. In America it’s like your time to blossom intellectually, but in Japan it’s just a 4-year break from the rigorous high school before and the rigorous working life afterwards. Basically Japanese college students just play with friends. They’re not interested in thinking or learning or expanding themselves.” I tempered my rant with, “It might depend on the discipline…I hope Japan’s future doctors and scientists aren’t skipping classes! But anyway when the Japanese college students come to America they have a hard time adjusting to higher expectations I think.” Whew, I’d managed to sound slightly articulate. Mrs. Basalla seemed to think it might just be the problem. “That’s very true I suppose,” she said, “The hard thing is how to change that system.” “Yeah…the Japanese adopt a system and then that’s the way it’s done properly, and no one thinks of changing it.” I thought of the uniforms of schoolchildren that Americans might be appalled to learn haven’t changed terribly since the Meiji Era. Mrs. Basalla didn’t seem to like my reply quite so much. “But we need to come up with something,” her attitude suggested. I realized how difficult her job must be, appeasing the pressures from Washington to advance national interests in the face of a foreign country not really interested. Ugh, I thought. Did I really want to go into government? I might be forced to do things that run against my personal opinions. The world suddenly looked too big and serious for me. Mrs. Basalla concluded the conversation and went off to her office, and it was almost time for me to escape to Nikko.

I decided on the way to stop by the Imperial Palace, which was close by. I found right subway exit and climbed up the smelly dark stairs to a vault of broad blue sky, with only the tiniest bit of yellow smudges on the horizon to remind one it really was a city sky. The Imperial Palace was fronted by a wide expanse of withered grass and stately pines, and under each one it seemed there was a homeless person sleeping wrapped in newspapers. I thought someone like Charles Dickens would have had something to say about a country in which the poor sleep on the Emperor’s doorstep. Oh well, at least they are allowed a safe place to lie down. There were signs warning not to sit on the grass, and a police box and security officers everywhere, but they all seemed to turn a blind eye to Tokyo’s less fortunate. I continued past the immobile forms to get a few photos of Niju-bashi, the bridge to the inner palace grounds. The blue sky reflected in the moat, in which a pair of swans dallied, was deeper and purer than any real sky. And then something wonderful came along—mounted Imperial guards! My 14-year-old horse-crazy self awoke slightly at the sight of the beautiful floating trot of one of the horses, and the perfect posture and balance of his handsomely uniformed rider. I could tell both were very accomplished; they really did seem to live and move as one creature. Two of the guards were letting tourists pose with them for pictures. I went near wondering if it was alright to touch the horses; it wasn’t, but a cute little obaa-chan taking photos for a group of high school girls offered to take my photo with the guards. I thanked her and the guards, grinning happily in spite of myself. The youngest guard made a surprised sound at hearing my Japanese voice. “How lovely…” he breathed. That was nice. Probably most blonde and blue-eyed tourists at the palace didn’t thank him in his native language. I’ll admit it was also nice to be admired by a man in uniform on a white horse!

I continued on to wander through the East Gardens of the Palace, which are free and open to the public, but being mid-winter much of the gardens were brown and withered, though I did find a few early trees blossoming. There was a tiny museum showcasing some Imperial household treasures—gifts from heads of state of foreign countries. I picked out the American gift right away. It was a glass etching of trees that reminded me of an Ansel Adams photo. Definitely in better taste I thought than the gift from Brazil—a hideous pair of silver flamingos sporting chunks of raw pink crystal stuck on their rear ends—but obviously not in the same price range as the 18th-century diamond-encrusted saber from Saudi Arabia. The museum made me think some part of diplomacy is state leaders exchanging art. I wondered whose job it was to pick out or suggest such presents. That would be a fun job.

Worn out already from walking, I decided to start heading at last for Nikko. I ended up at the wrong station; I didn’t realize so many train lines each had their own Asakusa stations. At last I found the Tobu line and bought my pass. The girl at the ticket counter was very friendly and, for the first time, rather than “Nihongo ga jouzu desu ne,” (‘Your Japanese is very good’; what Japanese say when my Japanese is crap or when they don’t know what else to say) she asked if I lived in Japan! I was pleasantly surprised. Maybe at last my conversational Japanese was getting somewhere.

I got on the train and watched the city, and urban outskirts, and farmlands, whiz by for a few hours. People were more relaxed on this train; eating snacks and lounging in the seats. The man next to me took off his shoes and propped his feet on the empty seat across from him; I did the same and yawned in the sunshine streaming into the windows. I began to get a little worried after an hour and a half of flat Kanto plains with not a single mountain in sight. I watched the horizon expectantly, and all the sudden the mountains were there looming out of the haze.

東京・日光　Tokyo and Nikko！part 2

2011-02-21T09:11:00.000-08:00

Shinkyo, the sacred bridge over Daiyugawa in Nikko

I got off the train and instantly noticed how clear and delicious the fresh mountain air was. I gulped it in eagerly and set off to find the hostel I would stay at for the two nights. It was a tiny Japanese-style place. From the booking site online I’d gathered it was run by a friendly married couple; I thought they sounded nice for a lone traveler. Perhaps because Nikko is a small inaka (countryside) town I expected an older couple, and was surprised when I opened the door to find that the go-shujin (husband) lounging in a kotatsu seemed barely thirty. His hair and the frames of his glasses both were thick and black, and he wore a ski-cap and a flannel jacket with a cammo print, the sort of things my brothers might wear in the winter. How different Nikko fashion was from the city! “Oh hey, Leah-san! It is Leah, isn’t it?” he called. He offered me tea and then showed me my room—or bed, rather. It was a bunk in a room with two bunk-beds. “Are you sure a mixed dorm is ok? There are actually three boys and you in here tonight…” I was a little dismayed, actually. I’d stayed in a mixed dorm hostel before, but then each bed was like a capsule, with a solid door one could shut and lock for some privacy. “This other room is empty tonight; why don’t you sleep there for now? It’s our best room too,” and he plopped my futon down in a lovely 8-mat tatami room with a carved ceiling. “Is it really alright? Thank you!” I laid out my futon and rested for a bit. It would be my first time sleeping on tatami. I went downstairs after a bit to the common room to find Satou-san’s wife had appeared; she was very cute and offered me a place next to her in the kotatsu. It was my first time sitting in one, and boy, was it lovely! That evening I met two American boys who were staying at the hostel; one was from Rikkyo University and was good friends with Lucian, my fellow Japanese major! Satou-san generously drove us to an illumination festival in the snow along the river. The prettiest thing to me was the glow of the almost-full moon on the snow and the myriad of stars, with the rush and rumble of the river, invisible in the darkness, from the gorge below. Afterwards Kumiko-san, Mrs. Satou, drove me to the supermarket to get a bento for dinner. They were all sold out already. “Well, we can go to 7/11 and get one,” she said smiling, but I insisted instant ramen was fine and bought that. On seeing the couple interact I had sensed if not exactly spousal discord at least a difference in personalities between them. Yudai Satou had lived abroad, was outgoing and warm, eager to hang out with guests and admittedly rather more friendly towards young female ones, while Kumiko-san was more reserved, and seemed to go about caring for guests according to her husband’s friendly policies not because she wanted to but because she had to. So I made do with ramen and was careful during dinner in the common room to address Satou-san in distant, polite Japanese. This seemed to make Kumiko-san a little friendlier to me, and when he went out later she and I enjoyed an hour or so of pleasant female chatter before bed. I thought grimly if I know anything about Japanese men, it must be a bit worrisome for her to live in a small house where so many young people (girls of course among them) came and went.

The next morning I got up early and stepped out of the hostel. I gasped wide-eyed at the view of the mountains behind the station that I hadn’t seen in the dark last night. Then I set off for what turned out to be a magical, but weary day of trudging through snow and shrines and silent cedar forests. It was beautiful and restorative. I also made a new friend: a tiny cinnamon-colored stray cat. She came running out of under a temple building mewing at me, and when I crouched down to her she jumped very friendly right into my lap, and gave me a kitty-hug by putting muddy little paws up to my neck. She climbed into my arms and nibbled my fingers, purring heartily. I tried to set her down but she wouldn’t have it; I felt silly carrying a cat around though and reluctantly forced her down. She tried to follow me, but I hissed a little at her, and then she sat looking forlornly at me and mewing until I was out of sight.

There is a famous part of the carvings in Tosho-gu of a sleeping cat; I shelled out 300 yen to see it, but couldn’t get the little stray out of my head. I found a trail from the shrine and hiked over the mountain—that was lovely but exhausting. I found a waterfall and tiny hidden shrines, and reveled in the thin mountain air and the silence broken only by the wind in the cedars. I was alone, but I always feel I'm in the presence of a friend at such times. When I came down from the mountain at last I looked around for the little cat, but this time I found her enjoying the attentions of a large yellow tomcat, who wasted no time in grabbing her scruff in his teeth and swinging himself on top of her. A Japanese man walking by noticed them too and pointed and laughed, but I hurried away embarrassed, not surprised now by how friendly the little cat had been. It was that time of year, I supposed.

I went back into town for lunch at a little place that advertised yuba-udon. Yuba is a specialty of Nikko but I’m still not exactly sure what it is. It seems to be a by-product of the soymilk-making process, but it was delicious. I was the only customer, so I sat at the bar stools in order to talk to the owner, an old man with a toothless grin. I often have a hard time understanding older folks’ Japanese and they seem to have a hard time understanding mine, but we got along. I asked him what his favorite season in Nikko was. “Tashika ni” (certainly) Nikko is famous for the fall leaves. This shop gets really crowded then. But my favorite is early spring, when there is new green on the hills. You should come again then, or stay longer,” he said chuckling. When he learned I was living in Kyoto, he asked if I liked matcha, and then brewed a cup of it for me! Along with a traditional Nikko sweet, mizu-yokan, which is a kind of jelly made from sweet red beans. This he refused to accept payment for.

Though I was so worn out I felt a little dizzy the food revived me and I decided to use the remaining daylight, which fades quickly when the sun sinks behind the mountains, to walk along the Daiyu River. I knew the Taisho Emperor when he came here to retreat from the hot Tokyo summer loved the river, and wrote a poem about it which is apparently inscribed on a rock somewhere near the river, but I never found the rock. It was very beautiful river anyway, clear as light in the shallows and deep turquoise in the pools, with a good balance between flat stretches and picturesque torrents leaping between piles of rounded boulders. I wanted to visit the Imperial estate, which is open to the public and famous for blending traditional Japanese styles with Western ones Taisho was so fond of, but simply did not have time. There was another house I wanted to visit, the Kanaya residence, which is an old samurai’s mansion. Locals call it the “ninja mansion” thanks to several architectural tricks that make attack difficult, such as low ceilings designed to prevent the drawing of a sword indoors. In the 19th century, James Curtis Hepburn, famous for developing the Hepburn system of romanizing Japanese, visited Nikko and found no place to stay, but the samurai Kanaya Zenemon offered Hepburn his house. As the story goes Kanaya seemed to enjoy hosting a foreigner, and in later years when Hepburn suggested he open the house as an inn for foreign visitors Kanaya did just that. Today the Kanaya Hotel in Nikko is in a different building than the original Japanese mansion, but has the prestige of being able to declare itself the oldest hotel in Nikko. It would seem the warm-hearted Nikko acceptance of outsiders come to rest or explore their little town goes back many years.

That evening Satou-san told me about a pass I could pick up at the tourist desk in the station which would give me free entry into an onsen (natural hotspring bath) at a fancy hotel in Kinugawa, a 30-minute train ride away. We figured out though I would be too late to pick up the pass from the office, which would close soon. Satou-san called his wife and some friends who worked at different onsen, but couldn't find anywhere else so nice for free. “It's alright, really,” I said, “Because tomorrow I'm going to Yumoto-onsen.” I’d quickly gathered that Kinugawa was a very touristy place, sporting several theme-parks and resort hotels, where all the foreigners and rich young Tokyo couples go. Yumoto on the other hand is a tiny town made up of 15 or so tiny ryokan, Japanese inns, in the heart of the mountains, two hours away by bus, built right on top of the volcanic marsh where the hotsprings bubble out of the ground, a soaking-place for Nikko old folks and a base-camp for serious skiers. Nikko in general lives off tourism, but Yumoto seemed to cater a little less to the shallow sorts of tourists. Satou-san agreed. “Yumoto instead of Kinugawa, huh. You sure looked it up thoroughly! Make sure you go to the onsen closest to the springs. It’ll be really hot though I think!”

That evening four more guests came, German girls visiting their friend Juliane who was studying at Keio University in Tokyo. They were very friendly and when they saw I was alone they invited me out to dinner with them! We went to a kind of touristy Indian restaurant where most everything was in English; being invited I kept my mouth shut about suggesting local fare—and then I learned one of the girls was vegetarian and agreed a traditional Japanese restaurant probably wouldn’t have many options anyway. The place was run by real Indian people though and the curry was very delicious, and the conversation very entertaining. Living with two Germans in my dorm I’ve gotten used to their pert, direct style and dry sense of humor—if Americans are notorious for talking straight I think Germans deserve the reputation even more! I spent the dinner laughing merrily at their banter. One of the girls, Julia, wanted to go to an onsen that night, so Satou-san drove us to one and we had a wonderful chat while soaking in the hot water, talking about school and plans for the future (we both are considering going into government) and exchanging recommendations for books (we both like classical literature). I learned later in the evening that the girls were planning a trip to Kyoto the next week—I offered to meet them and show them around for a day or two! They were very enthusiastic and I was glad to have met, even if for only a short time, a kindred spirit in Julia. Juliane and I stayed up late exchanging stories of study abroad. She had arrived at Keio the same month I had come to Doshisha, and was also staying for a year. “Once I accidentally went to a host-club,” she said, me smiling in the darkness at her English, “But it was so weird to pay for flirting. I asked one boy “Do you have plans for your future?” but he just kept playing with my hair and saying I am so pretty. What a joke!” I tried not to laugh too loud. I could just see the practically-minded Juliane ruining the mood by asking the host about his future. “It is sad,” I said when the giggles subsided, “I suppose their livers are all ruined from drinking all night every day.” “Yeah, and they can't be hosts forever, either,” said Juliane, “Eventually they get old and minikui (ugly: literally, ‘hard to look at’). Then I guess they turn into the ojisans who clean toilets in train stations.” We sighed heavily at the terrible fate of the beautiful host boys, and, half-asleep now, giggled nonsensically a bit more, and at last got some sleep as rain drummed outside.

In the morning I got up early to set off for Yumoto. The bus ride was breath-taking, especially the morning brilliance reflected in the white snow and powder blue of Lake Chuzenji. The bus climbed up Iroha-zaka, the road up the mountain that in which each switchback is designated by a letter of the old Japanese alphabet. The views were dizzying. Then came the Senjogahara Plain, in winter a white expanse dotted with elegant birch trees. At one point the bus stopped at a hiking trailhead to a waterfall. Most of the 20-odd old folks on the bus got off there, helping each other toddle off the slippery sidewalks onto the trail, each decked out in hiking boots and canvas garters and hiking staffs. They were so cute, and I thought how amazing Japanese old people are sometimes. I couldn’t imagine someone my grandmother’s age going off hiking, but the Japanese seem genki (healthy, energetic) enough for it somehow. At last the bus arrived at its last stop in Yumoto. It was deep in snow, with the plowed piles at the sides of the road reaching almost double a man’s height. The sky was a brilliant blue and the strong wind roaring in the pines seemed as loud as jet engines. It was very empty at midday and the first onsen I entered I had to myself. My favorite are the outdoor baths; this one was against a snowy hillside and the bitter wind flowing under the black pines blew tiny ice crystals across my bare shoulders. The indoor bath was almost too hot for me to enter, my skin turned lobster red in only a few seconds. The next onsen I tried was the one directly on the sulfur marsh, the first onsen to receive the mineral water, naturally heated to a just bearable temperature, piped only a few hundred meters from where it bubbled up from the ground. I lingered in that onsen for almost two hours, since the outdoor bath had a nice view over the marshes and a ledge for sitting on when I got too hot in the water. I watched a hawk wheeling in the sky for a long time. A young woman got into the bath too presently, and I talked to her, “Kimochi ii desu ne,” (Feels good, doesn’t it?) simply because I feel awkward being in close quarters with someone stark naked and not talking at least a little. She replied looking pleasantly surprised. “Nihon de osumai desu ka?” Again, I was asked if I were a resident in Japan! To be asked this question twice in such a short time was very nice. Maybe my spoken Japanese really is improving!

I dragged myself out of the onsen at last, and, feeling very clean and limp and warm after two onsen now, returned to Lake Chuzenji for lunch, and then set off to find Kegon-taki, the beautiful falls that drop from the lake basin. Giant icicles hung around it and a wind echoing in the basin blew up ice crystals and last fall’s leaves. Everything glittered. I’d read of how a 17-year-old boy had, many years ago, thrown himself from the falls after carving a very long but moving poem in a tree near the edge of the falls. Some author used the incident in a novel and before long the spot became famous for young suicides. I don’t know if it still has that reputation, but either way I saw no literature about suicide prevention or counseling, just stands of stuffed monkeys (there are evidently wild monkeys in Nikko. I was very glad I didn’t meet a single one. I think they’re very scary!) and keychains and fried yuba. Oh well. I suppose Japanese are much more private about emotional problems than Americans, who like to talk about theirs. I admired the falls one last time and then turned my back for the hostel. I would just pack up my things and take the evening train for Tokyo to catch my overnight bus back to Kyoto. The time in Nikko had been entirely too short. I got “home” to the hostel and let Satou-san set me down with tea when I really wanted to be running. I’m always a bit nervous about mistaking the noriba (platform) or something and so I like to arrive early for trains like this that run only once every few hours. But as I sipped the tea I felt my body, sinking comfortably in the chair, was getting very heavy. I wanted so dreadfully to stay. The merry German girls had gone already and I would meet them in Kyoto, but the Satous, the little cat at Toshogu, the places I had wanted to see but didn’t have time for, the morning view of the mountains…I would miss it all so much. I thought wildly of canceling the overnight bus and staying a few more nights, but no…in fees and the loss of my 4-day train pass it would cost double than if I had planned to stay longer from the beginning, and I hadn’t brought so much cash. Satou-san appealed to me one last time. “Do you really have to go so soon? Won’t you come tonight to a full-moon party?” I wished he hadn’t invited me. It made me sadder to leave. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I really have to catch that bus. But is tonight a full moon?”

Before I left we took a picture together in front of the hostel. I’d wished Kumiko-san was there but Satou-san said she’d gone across town and wouldn’t be back in time for me to catch the train. He couldn’t put his arm around me because of my bulging backpack, but he tucked himself in close for the photo and used the opportunity to give me a squeeze. He laughed at the photo. “We look like koibito, lovers” “Which we are not,” I said, glad a bit of revulsion found its way into my voice, embarrassed to think he probably wouldn’t have gotten away with it had Kumiko-san been there, and shocked at how fond of him I was myself. “Come again sometime,” he said, and instead of “sayonara” we said, jaa mata, “see you later.” Then I hurried off for the train. When I had the leisure to sit quietly in my seat as the train pulled away, a few tears started swimming in my eyes. I had found a paradise, a quiet, pristine haven that I hardly had the time to look at even, and had met quite unexpectedly some very kind people I might not ever meet again. For the first time I was returning to Kyoto reluctantly. I had a found a new place in Japan I could love. I thought of the Satous and how running a hostel in Nikko would be just about the best job ever—living in such a beautiful place and being able to meet so many interesting people from all over the world. But of course the hard thing is no one stays long. I sniffed, realizing for the first time that I still smelled strongly of sulfur from the onsen, and sadly ate the sembei crackers Satou-san had given me as a farewell present. The group of old ladies across from me opened beers and Pocky and were soon as noisy and chattery as any group of highschoolers. I looked glumly out the window as the full moon rose, huge and round and golden as a 500 yen coin in the purple sky. I was already thinking of when I might have a long enough break to come back—May? I could see the “new green” that old man in the yuba shop had mentioned. End of June? Senjogahara would be waist-deep in wildflowers. But oh dear, there were still so many other places in Japan I wanted to see, it seemed somehow sad to use a precious break time to come back again to someplace I’d already been to. We will see!

Blondes Prefer Gentlemen

2011-01-27T05:56:00.000-08:00

A few days ago Japan entered the season of daikan, or extreme cold, but so far it has been unseasonably mild and I’m already dreaming of spring. The malls are now avalanches of pink and chocolate in preparation for Valentine’s Day, and even the ducks in the Kamogawa, who were all single just last week are now paddling about in pairs. Everywhere are little signs that the season of twitterpation is arriving.

It would be dishonest to say I am immersed in my studies and immune to it all. It was the ducks that did it. “I guess if one is a duck, finding a nice guy is pretty simple.” And so, following my train of thought that afternoon that wandered from ducks to matters of the heart, I will write this journal about something a study abroad orientation or class may mention only in passing: observations on the opposite sex in my host country.

Yukiko lowers her voice conspiratorially, her eyes lit with a playful spark. “So, what do you think of Japanese boys?” It’s times like these when I have an opportunity to practice Japanese indirectness. “Oh, well, they have great fashion-sense!” At Doshisha this is completely true: pea-coats, leather jackets, fedoras, scarves, dangling suspenders, boots—oh, American young men could learn a thing or two! But sometimes they go too far I think. German friend Tilo has reported that the sinks in the men's rooms are crowded with boys teasing their hair! The carefully plucked eyebrows are also a bit otoko-rashikunai (unmanly) in my opinion. There is one boy we often see in the cafeteria, whom we've dubbed Mayu-nashi (No Eyebrows) because he has plucked them within a fraction of their lives. “Mayu-nashi’s sitting behind us again!”

Aside from a taste for fashion, there is something else I’ve noticed about the general Japanese male population: a lack of gentlemanliness. Granted, half the problem is me being Western and expecting something from Japanese people that was never a part of their culture to begin with, but my unmet expectations are sometimes cause for embarrassment and surprise: the time I bumped into a door because I had expected the man who went in ahead of me to hold it open for me; the time I sat down with a group of friends and it was a fellow American (a girl) who went to find another chair while the Japanese boys around the table didn’t lift a finger; the time at the grocery store when I saw a woman loaded up with grocery bags while her husband walked by her side swinging his empty hands.

It works both ways; Japanese women also don’t generally complain, and I think the old Confucian ideas of men's and women's relationships are still alive and well, perhaps especially in conservative Kyoto. Just sometimes I see or hear things that I think with amusement would make some American feminists cringe. When talking with Japanese girls, the inevitable question comes up, “Do you have a boyfriend?” and my disappointing reply is often met with squeals of “mottainai!” (“What a waste!”) It makes me giggle. Oh yes, all this beauty going to waste because there’s no man around to appreciate it properly.

Now I realize I can’t expect American behavior from Japanese people, and that it’s unfair to make blanket statements. There are of course exceptions; “Japanese men” are all individuals. Just recently at the conbini (convenience store) an older man opened the door for his wife and held it open for me as well. It was so nice I went straight home and told the girls in the dorm all about it!

東京旅 - Travel to Tokyo

2010-11-30T05:49:00.000-08:00

At Doshisha, there is a four-day weekend break towards the end of November. Early on I decided to use this time to go to Tokyo and visit some friends: my fellow Japanese majors Ariel and Lucian at Aoyama Gakuin and Rikkyo University, and maybe—hopefully—my old roommate Yuika and friends who studied abroad at Linfield last year from Yokohama’s Kanto Gakuin University.

For a long time it seemed I might as well go to the moon as soon as go to Tokyo! I, who had no understanding of my own city’s public transportation and who had not even ventured to nearby Osaka yet, go to Tokyo alone! But booking an overnight bus and a cheap Asakusa hostel turned out to be surprisingly easy. The one problem was I’d planned to be in Tokyo from Friday to Sunday, and my friends all had classes on Friday until late. I would be alone that first day. I made a list of three places I’d always wanted to visit to keep myself occupied: Tsukiji fish market, Yasukuni Shrine, and Meiji Shrine/Harajuku.

The day I left my dorm and said “Ittekimasu!” (I’m going) to my friends there I was almost in tears with a sudden nervousness. As I closed the door behind me I stood on the doorstep for a moment and made a resolution, General MacArthur style: “I shall return!” Then I set off into the crisp autumn night.

The overnight bus was a miserable 7-hour blur of drowsy wakefulness, an aching rear end, and the driver’s frequent announcements about how glad he was we’d chosen Willer Express and oh he was so very sorry to have woken us while we were sleeping. Japanese people seem to enjoy polite announcements in public places.

I arrived at Shinjuku station and saw Tokyo for the first time, tall grey buildings under a grey sky lit with a pale sun. At 6:30 in the morning the streets were quiet. I made myself presentable in a bathroom and set off for Tsukiji, feeling rather sick and bleary-eyed, but I perked up when I got off the train at Tsukiji-shijo station and immediately recognized the smell of fish. Most of the people in the station were either gruff-looking men in shiny muckboots or tourists like me. I followed a European couple into the outer market and, craving sashimi for breakfast, wandered towards the food stalls and tiny restaurants. A man in a stall addressed me in broken English, “Miss, I recommend you go to place with most people. It is best food.” I thanked him and, contrary to my original instinct to go to one of the emptier restaurants, waited for a seat at one where the line went out the door and down the street. It was well-worth the wait! I chose salmon and tuna sashimi that came with a dollop of mustard-colored uni, sea urchin. It was all delicious! The raw fish melted in my mouth like butter. After breakfast I wandered some more and took pictures. I take more photos when I am alone than when I am with someone—alone, I can share interesting things I see only with my camera. At one stall I was suddenly scolded in English, “Hey, you should ask first!” Ashamed, I apologized and asked permission as prettily as I knew how in Japanese. Sins gruffly forgiven, I took a few more miserable photos and then escaped, a weak feeling near my eyes that meant I might cry. I always feel so terrible when I realize I’ve been rude to a Japanese person. Quite finished now with Tsukiji, which was getting busier by the moment anyway, I left for my next destination, Yasukuni Shrine.

When I was younger I had a great interest in the Pacific theater of WWII. My grandpa had experienced it as a flight technician on an aircraft carrier, which was narrowly missed by kamikaze, though that is the extent of my knowledge of his experience—every time he tried to talk about the War, he’d break down in tears. His stories died with him, and I was left to wonder what could have been so terrible that a man could not talk about it even 50 years after the fact. I read a lot of books, and it was in one of them I first heard about Yasukuni Shrine, as the place where the Japanese war dead are enshrined as deities. Today the shrine is associated with the radical right wing in Japan and is a bit of a scandal that it still exists. I had an inclination to see it for myself, and talked about it with some friends. My friend Carina said she could never go, being German. A Korean friend said she had gone once and immediately felt sick to her stomach just seeing the shrine’s entrance. The dead don’t bother me, I thought. Good or bad, hero or war criminal, they all came to the same end. So I decided to live dangerously and just go.

The sky wept a drizzling grey rain when I arrived and stood gaping up at the largest and ugliest torii gate I’d ever seen. The shrine was laid out very symmetrically and had a definite masculine, militaristic air to it. I approached the main hall and watched the people—all of them older men, not old enough to have been in the War, but old enough to have grown up in its lingering shadow—coming up to pray. I had to wonder what their thoughts were. Judging by the stares I was getting, they wondered the same about me. I usually feel very calm in shrines, but here the air was heavy and charged. I sat under a shelter for a bit, thinking, while the suited men around me flicked their cigarettes and talked business and didn’t notice how pretty the rain was dripping like tears down a chain from the roof. I went into the Yushukan, Yasukuni’s military history museum, when I learned there was a discount for college students. It was eye-opening to say the least. Beginning from the Meiji era, Japan is presented as a nation struggling to liberate its Asian neighbors, provoked economically by the Imperialistic West until it had no choice but to do things like invade its neighbors and attack Pearl Harbor (according to the museum, that was no surprise attack either, but something Roosevelt had carefully orchestrated). I had never seen Japanese military history from such a nationalistic viewpoint! No wonder so many are angry over the shrine’s existence. But some things touched me without judgments. The beautiful bride dolls given to the shrine by mothers whose young sons never had a chance to marry, the inner sanctum of the photographs of those enshrined there—young face after fresh young face. What a cruel waste, I thought.

“When Time shall have softened passion and prejudice, when Reason shall have stripped the mask from misrepresentation, then Justice, holding evenly her scales, will require much of past censure and praise to change places.” I found this quote on a memorial in the shrine. It fits the mood of Yasukuni to a T, but I didn’t like it, because it can be used to support any opinion, really.

I left Yasukuni at last for Meiji-jingu in Yoyogi Park near Harajuku. It was about 1:00pm and I was hungry by now. On the way to find some food an old lady tripped and fell near me, hitting my knee with her head very hard. She apologized profusely over and over. I was sure she was the more hurt, being so elderly and having hit her head. I was worried but could only keep asking if she was really ok. My knee actually hurt quite a bit, but when I at last walked it off I found the twisted, sore feeling it had gotten from the overnight bus was completely gone. I saw an udon shop advertising a bowl of noodles for 180 yen. Thinking I wouldn’t find anything cheaper I popped in. The thing about such places is they’re really only frequented by salarymen with short lunch breaks, and so I felt self-conscious being alone, female, and unable to slurp my noodles properly. It was a very filling and yummy lunch though!

After Yasukuni, Meiji Shrine was a breath of fresh air. I’ve always rather liked the Meiji Emperor in the history classes I’ve taken and books I’ve read, and I relaxed immediately on seeing the beautiful tori gate entrance and the long forested path to the shrine which gradually makes one forget bustling Harajuku outside. Happy to be somewhere nice again I washed my hands and mouth at the entrance to the shrine and tossed a coin into the offering box, clapping my hands the way the Japanese do to get the deity’s attention, though I prayed to my own God who doesn’t need money or clapping to hear prayers. I wandered around and took a few pictures, and then, being very tired out by now, sat on a bench and simply watched people. Ariel and I had plans to meet up for dinner after 6, but I had some time to kill.
The best thing I saw was a young family dressed in kimono for 7-5-3 day, their little 3-year-old girl in a bright red kimono. She pattered about in her kimono sandals, hiding behind her daddy’s hakama skirts and dashing away giggling uproariously whenever he, with the most delighted smile on his face, tried to turn around and tickle her, their play made graceful by the traditional Japanese clothes. It was so pretty! I went up to the couple and asked for photos, and the little girl said, “konnichi wa!” to me, and “sayonara!” when I left. Ohh! I wanted to take the little princess home with me. I went back to my bench, which had been empty, but presently someone whom I sensed was a young man came and sat down on its opposite end. I couldn’t really rest with someone sitting there stealing glances at me, so I got up to leave after a few minutes. As I stepped away, I distinctly heard, “Sorry!” from the bench, the Japanese way of saying “excuse me” in English. Following some unconscious instinct I ignored it, and heard “Sorry!” once more before I ducked through the gate and out of the shrine. I was a bit sorry I’d ignored someone and thought maybe he had had a perfectly innocent motive, and searched my bag and pockets to make sure I hadn’t left my camera or maps at the bench or something, but when I realized he couldn’t have been addressing me about a wasuremono –forgotten item—I decided it had been best to trust that instinct. I suddenly felt a bit vulnerable, being alone, and as I walked down Ometesando towards Aoyama I felt men’s eyes on me everywhere. At Aoyama some kind of Christmas concert was taking place outdoors—I sat down to listen to the carols sung in Japanese by the beautiful choir and wait for Ariel. A boy sat down next to me, and addressed me in Japanese (which always makes me think well of whoever is talking to me), “Excuse me, do you know when this concert is supposed to start?” This time I did not feel so reserved, so I said, “Sorry, I don’t know,” –normally I would have ended the conversation there, but I added, “I’m actually not a student here.” “Oh? Where do you study?” “At Doshisha in Kyoto, I’m an exchange student.” “Oh really! Doshisha. That must be hard work. What are you studying?” Our conversation went on, but he soon began to ask me about my plans for that evening and weekend, whether the friend I was waiting for at Aoyama was a boy or a girl, and returning again and again to Roppongi as a place he knew well and one people new to Tokyo should see—hinting he wanted to suggest taking me there. All of this said in his smoker’s voice started to give me a bad feeling, but I was friendly until he introduced himself, and when I told him my name he connected it immediately with Leah Dizon, a well, Playboy model of sorts, and that comment did him in. I let the conversation die and ignored his fidgeting in the lingering awkwardness, and last he got up and said, “See you around,” and left.

I went back to listening to Silent Night in Japanese, and at the end of the concert I at last met Ariel. Ariel is shy and quiet, and it was strange to meet her there in Japan! She took me to an Indian curry restaurant, which was run by real Indian people and each bowl of delicious curry came with a piece of steaming naan bread bigger than my head. We lingered at the restaurant and chatted until quite late, and I realized I would have to hurry to make it to my hostel in Asakusa before the check-in time ended.

I messed up the trains and ran late. With ten minutes to spare I made it the right station, staring at the boxes the homeless people were living in and thinking jokingly to myself if the hostel closed I could always beg a box from one of them.

The next day I got up early and went to Yokohama to meet the KGU friends I hadn’t seen for a year. I got on yet another train and settled in for an hour and a half ride. I’d come successfully to Tokyo, but I felt like what I’d seen so far of the city was the insides of innumerable trains and stations. Suddenly bright sunlight hit my closed eyelids. The train had shot out of under the ground into the blinding morning. I gazed happily out the window for the whole ride, as the city became urban and filled with apartment buildings. How could there be so many people in one city? The buildings continued until I wanted to scream, but then bits of green began to appear, growing from the gardens of larger houses to parks and finally a forest or two. I stepped off the train, and a cold, fresh wind hit me as it blew through narrow, busy streets. Yokohama! Suddenly a familiar face appeared, and Yuka was running toward me, “LEAH!! HISASHIBURI!! (long time no see)” We collided in a happy hug. Misato my conversation partner followed. Together we walked from the station to the KGU campus. Today they were busy; their class was participating in an English communication contest that I’d said I’d help out with. Hearing Misato and Yuka’s voice again swept me back to last year, when they were all at Linfield…the happiest semester I’d spent at Linfield thus far. But more happy reunions were in store. Misato and I entered the room where her class was preparing for the contest, and there was Yuika, my old roommate from last year! Happy tears glistened in her eyes. Oh, it was strange to meet again in Japan! Our friend Shin wasn’t able to come, being busy and grown-up as a new kaisha-in (company worker), but Misato called him and handed the phone to me. His voice brought back memories of the one time I had been invited along to Yuika’s friendship family’s house in McMinnville and we’d all made cookies and played in their hot-tub.

Golden sunlight spilled into the empty classroom, and we spent the hours sitting on the floor preparing the speeches for the contest. It was as natsukashii (nostalgic) as a Japanese drama—working on a project with the four of them was like being back at Linfield again.

During the contest Mitsuyoshi came. I saw him sitting in the back hunched under a hoodie, looking the same as I’d remembered from last year. After the contest (our team explained the study abroad system at Linfield, and we won a trophy for Best Effort!) Mitsuyoshi came down to the stage to say hello. I hugged him without thinking, and was duly laughed at by the Japanese people around. “Ooooh!!” Hugs in Japan are so rare, they usually only mean one thing. Mitsuyoshi laughed it off and hugged me back, saying he was ureshii (glad) to hug a pretty girl. Yes, he was the same Mitsuyoshi as ever. After the contest I went with Yuika, Yuka, Miku, Misato, and Cassie, Brenna, and Nicole—Japanese minors from Linfield who are studying at KGU and who had also helped with the contest—with Yuika’s class and their sensei to an izakaya (traditional-style bar/pub). I sat next to Yuika. I couldn’t believe I was together again with the best roommate I ever had, and that the day was already coming to a close. The boy next to me, Yuika’s classmate Yuta-san, flushed red after only a few mouthfuls of beer and began to talk merrily to me in English. He’d studied abroad in Arkansas for nine months and his English was very good. I asked if he’d had a good experienced. He smiled a little sadly. “I wish I’d been less shy and made more friends, actually.” His words sunk into my heart. They would be echoed later by my classmate Lucian.
After the izakaya Cassie, Nicole, and Brenna went home and the four girls and I went to get my train, stopping to take puri-kura (Japanese photobooth pictures). On the train Yuika and Yuka sat opposite me. I noticed them staring and smiling strangely. “What?” “It’s just a like dream…meeting you here in Yokohama!” “Exactly,” said Yuika, “But if it’s a dream I don’t want to wake up.” When at last the time came to say goodbye we paused in front of the automatic ticket scanners, the late-night commuters swirling around us. Yuika took hold of my hand wouldn’t let go, tears filling her eyes. “There will be other times,” said Misato calmly, “This is only the first time we’ll meet Leah in Japan.” “Of course, of course!” we said. But somehow we both seemed to know with my schoolwork and Yuika’s rigorous job-hunting, meeting again would be difficult. It had been the best day in Japan so far, and I had a feeling one like it might not come again.

On the train home I thought of the friendships I’ve made at Linfield. Most of them are with international students and those who now live or work in Europe, Asia, South America — would I ever see those people again? Even now my dorm-mates, whom I already love so much, come from places like Germany, France, England, Korea…after the year is up, I will have to say goodbye to them as well. As fun and rewarding as international friendships are, they are heart-breaking. I had worked and planned hard to meet Yuika and the other KGU friends, but could I do the same for my other friends in other countries? Oh well, I thought, more excuses to travel! My heart did not belong to one country only, I realized.

The next day I met Lucian at Asakusa-eki, and together we wandered around the crowded environs of Senso-ji Temple. We spotted a lovely Shinto bride and groom in a glittering rickshaw, a performing monkey that made me quite depressed, and were accosted by a group of Waseda students who were offering free English tours of the temple in order to practice their English. They were a fun group of kids and we ended up talking mostly in Japanese and about many more things than just the temple! We found out they were freshmen, and their excited faces made me think, “Ahh, how young they are.” And I also thought how different they were from Kyoto young people, who are terribly shy! After we said goodbye to our new friends at last Lucian and I bought chocolate-dipped bananas and sat down in a little park area. The ginko tree above whirled down yellow leaves while the famous five-storied pagoda rose into the blue sky before us. We talked for a few hours about our experiences so far. We both discovered our classes are frustratingly easy, but Lucian seems to have had better luck about making Japanese friends. “Don’t think of yourself as so foreign,” he said, “And don’t focus so much on academics. You’ll regret not meeting more people at the end of the year.”
That is easy for you to say, I thought, you who are more Japanese than the Japanese themselves—even his way of walking wasn’t American—and who thinks of academics the way Ron Weasley does from Harry Potter. Oh well. I resolved to take his advice to heart.

Shadows began to lengthen, and we headed to Harajuku to meet up with Ariel again. On the way we were met by an older woman who began chatting pleasantly and asked for donations for tsunami victims in some prefecture. In America I never give money to strangers, but somehow that day I couldn’t say no. Just after I’d given her a thousand yen a man on a bike came by, “Don’t give her anything!” he shouted, “She’s scamming you!” “No I’m not!” she shouted back, and Lucian and I thought we’d best leave. Embarrassed we’d been swindled, we decided we’d learned a good lesson the hard way.

At Harajuku we met Ariel and the three of us went to Ikebukuro to get a glimpse of Rikkyo University and find some dinner. In the restaurant with them I felt dreamy again. The three ’12 Japanese majors, together in Tokyo…it somehow seemed so grown-up, like the first time I’d gone to a restaurant with friends and without my parents at age 14. We were all growing up. Who knew how we’d change in the coming year. Lucian had admitted to not knowing Ariel well. “Oh, who cares,” I’d said, “We need to look out for each other. Next year we’ll take classes and graduate together, after all.”

After dinner we wandered around Sunshine City, a mall in Ikebukuro. Ikebukuro was pulsating with crowds and flashing billboards, a big glittering city but not at all high class. In the mall Lucian took us to the Ghibli store and we sighed over expensive Totoro plushies and I purchased a few little omiyage (souvenirs) for siblings and friends. I spend more money if it’s not for myself.

At 9:00, I said goodbye to Lucian and Ariel, with promises to meet again in Kyoto, I was left to kill time in Shinjuku station while I waited for the overnight bus at 11:00. As it happened I got horribly lost in the endless station for a few hours. I asked directions a few times, but could never quite understand the directions given to me in Japanese. Frustrated, exhausted, alone, sagging under my heavy back-pack, I began to cry as I wandered through the streets surrounding the station, looking for the bus stop. I had mistaken trains and gotten a little lost a few times on my trip, but it was never enough to phase me. Now I just wanted to curl in a ball and have a good cry. I snuffled miserably as I walked, wishing a nice old ojii-san, or a cute onii-san, would take pity on me and ask what was the matter and show me the way to the bus stop. Instead as I walked down a narrow dark passage I noticed a middle-aged man loitering there in the shadows smoking. He clicked his tongue as I walked by as one might to call a cat. Filled with disgust and fear I got out of there as fast as I could to a lit and crowded shop front. Angry now, my tears disappeared and I felt renewed energy; my brain cleared and after a few minutes found the bus stop easily. I got a call from French classmates Jeremy and Valentine, who were taking the same bus back to Kyoto, and who were lost too. Having the mission of finding them and bringing them to the bus stop cheered me up considerably, but there was trouble again when we boarded the bus. My seat number said “8”, so I thought that meant seat 8, but it turns out it meant row 8. Seat 8 was next to Jeremy, so he said it would be nice if I could just stay there and we could sit together. The Japanese man who would have sat next to Jeremy said that was quite alright, he’d trade—the lady I was supposed to sit with said she didn’t mind the swap either. But the bus driver disagreed. They couldn’t let a boy and girl who hadn’t booked together sit next to each other. I think the problem wasn’t Jeremy and I (everyone on the bus seemed to think we were a couple) but the Japanese man and the woman who would now have to sit next to each other. The kind Japanese man, who had a sweet babyface with big eyes, argued with the bus driver for us until people sitting around us started whispering and I got really embarrassed. I said very shortly to the bus coordinator, interrupting her excuses, “I got it. If it’s such a big problem, I’ll sit in my own seat. The problem was I just didn’t know where it was.” And Jeremy and the Japanese man had been too gentlemanly. Grumpy that I was being talked about in my hearing by the other Japanese passengers, that I’d embarrassed Jeremy and that nice Japanese man, that I’d snapped and been rude when I was the one who’d caused the problem, I slumped in my seat and pouted. We also happened to be the only foreigners on that bus. Stupid gaijin, I thought, not doing things chanto (properly) and being so rude. The shame was too much. More tears came out of under my forcibly closed eyelids as I tried to sleep.

The morning came slowly. It was very cold in Kyoto. I felt sick and could barely walk. As I walked by the man who’d argued on my behalf last night I wanted to apologize to him, but he looked half-dead now too and the Japanese words wouldn’t come anyway. But the cold air refreshed me, and at last I was fitting my key into the lock of dorm’s front door. “Tadaima!” (I’m home)

なんぱ and Other Problems

2010-10-24T05:53:00.000-07:00

Nampa-san in action (my friend is in the red)

Sometimes I learn Japanese words “the hard way”—that is, I hear them first not in class, but in the midst of experiencing what the word refers to. I usually prefer to learn Japanese words this way because then they move more quickly from my mental bank of known words to the “checking account” of words I am comfortable using in everyday conversations. The most recent word I have learned this way is “nampa,” which is translated as "flirt" but really is rather more insistent. In the passive form: shiranai hito ni nampa sareta! “I was hit on by a stranger!” I heard this sentence from a friend of mine, who is a bit of a partier and who went on to warn me about how bold Japanese men can be. I dismissed the advice at first, thinking that a sensible person who didn’t wander tipsily around Sanjo at 10pm on a Friday was probably quite safe. Well, I was a little wrong about that.

Yesterday another friend of mine, Stacey from Britian, and I went to a cosplay convention at the Kyoto Manga Museum. It was a lot of fun; I’m not really into manga or anime, but so many of my Japanese classmates are, I find myself going along to these kinds of things (for the curious in the know, I went as Sakata Gintoki from Gintama, and Stacey was Grell from Kuroshitsuji)! Anyway, we ended up being the only foreigners cosplaying at this con, and as such found ourselves rather popular, especially with a group of young people all playing characters from Stacey’s anime. The nampa started with one of them, whom Stacey and I refer to as Nampa-san. First of all he told me that Stacey was so cute and just his type, and by the end of the day he was stroking her hair (well, wig), inviting her to an Osaka maid café, and going on about how he would wait so eagerly for the first email from her. Confused, we alternated between giggling and conferring in whispered English, and Stacey decided not to email him. Poor Nampa-san’s heart will be broken. But then I realized while he was very interested in our names and ages he had not given his own, and that was creepy. I bet the bugger was thirty years old! I was surprised at that incident. In my experience young Japanese men are quite shy around foreign girls. Notice I said “young.” Yes, my nampa experience—well, not really nampa because it’s not related to matters of the heart—has been with old men. Why me??

Uchiyama-san is an older gentleman at the Japanese church I have been attending for the past month. He insists on sitting down with me during the lunch after the service, and trails on and on in broken English which I have to answer in Japanese because he doesn’t understand my English replies. He invited me to a festival last Friday, and even though I said I had class that day he bought me a special ticket, so I couldn’t find the heart to refuse then and skipped class to go. It was the most awkward thing ever. Uchiyama-san had invited three other ancient, English-hungry men just like him and we sat in these special seats where I was the only foreigner and the only one under 70 years old. Nothing I’ve learned or experienced in America prepared me for this kind of attention. At my church I get along great with the old folks. They ask about how school is going and oh isn’t your hair pretty today. But they never try to “hang out” with me or invite me somewhere so aggressively. There is a generation gap. But Uchiyama-san’s purpose in life is to learn English at all costs, and every other consideration falls by the wayside in its wake. I can’t understand him at all. He is 80 years old, retired, not fit to travel—he has no need of English. I have never met anyone who was so desperate—desperate to the point of rude insanity—about learning a language.

Today things came to a head. Unable to refuse his badgering I was about to give in to going to Nara with him next weekend, when some other members of the church noticed and came to my rescue, first the girl sitting with us, a very sweet graduate student named Naomi. She started to make some observation about the expense and time it would take, and he told her very curtly to shut up and not interrupt her elders. After that some of the older ladies and the men started to gather around our table. The ladies said an old man shouldn’t invite such a young girl, the men insisted a student’s life is busy and tight on cash, all said smilingly and tempered with “we know you like foreigners, but…” “you’re always so kind to young people, but…” Actually, as awkward as it was, it was a great example of Japanese conflict resolution. But when I left the church, Uchiyama-san followed me out of the building, still going on about Nara. One of the men of the church ran out after him and told me to hurry while bodily restraining Uchiyama-san, who was outright angry by now. Once far enough away I was in tears. I am just starting to love that church; the members are genuine and sweet and I don’t want to leave them, but if they are always having to restrain Uchiyama-san I will become a bother. And if he is like that all the time I won’t enjoy being there either. I just don’t know what to do or how to react. My heart is so heavy and confused. I was given tickets for a concert there next week, but maybe I should skip a week and that will let Uchiyama-san see he is frightening me.

So that was the not-so-nice part of my weekend…in some ways I am so avoided by Japanese people it hurts: on the train they scootch away from me, at school I am completely ignored (at least apparently) by the Japanese students. Other times they are excited about foreigners and want to get uncomfortably close—Nampa-san and Uchiyama-san. I came home to the dorm today and spilled the whole story to my friend Carina. All we could do was throw our hands in the air and say “Japanese people!” –there is simply no understanding them!

Every Day is an Adventure

2010-10-15T04:33:00.000-07:00

I didn’t mean to go to Kiyomizu-dera, but ended up there escaping from a Japanese graveyard. I had better back up and tell this story correctly!

That Saturday I woke up lazily, and over my toast started reading someone’s Japan Times they had left out. I saw that a tofu festival was going on, a “gourmet tofu battle” between 7 cities in the Kansai area. This sounded delicious and too much fun! Sadly no one awake at that hour liked tofu, so I set out on my own. I only knew vaguely that the festival was near Kiyomizu-dera, which is at the end of Gojo-dori. It was already warm around 10:00 am that day, but before I hit Imadegawa-dori I had the sidewalks to myself. Ah, the freedom of the open road on a Saturday morning, and the pavement singing away under my bike tires! A fragrant coolness wafted from the over the walls of the Imperial Palace I rode under the shadows of its trees. Birds and butterflies fluttered there too, and I thought, only in Japan is such loveliness possible!

Then quite suddenly the little bookshops and curry houses and laundromats disappeared, to be replaced with shiny, polished buildings, taller and taller, though not quite large enough to be called skyscrapers. The sidewalks became choked suddenly the well-dressed, the busy, the city-folk. I was down-town, I supposed, and realized I was after all heading in the direction of Kyoto Station. The lively pulse of the city was exhilarating too, but towards the end of Gojo-dori there appeared, mounting up under the pavement, a gigantic hill. Ah well, I suppose Kiyomizu-dera is after all in the “mountains” (to me they are like foothills really). I pedaled up the hill as best I could, trying to concentrate on how nice it would be to ride down on the way back. Nearly a month on my bike still hadn’t prepared me for a hill! Most of Kyoto is so flat. Being very thirsty and rather lost at this point I bought my first ever Pocari Sweat at a Circle K (it tasted like watery Gatorade, very hydrating) and asked the cashier if she knew anything about a tofu festival near Kiyomizu-dera. She didn’t, but directed me towards the temple. I decided to wander around there and see if I didn’t see anyone who looked tofu-festival-ish. That’s how I ended up in a graveyard. I went up a tiny street that soon became so steep I had to get off my bike and walk it up the hill. I passed several well-dressed people and shops that all seemed to specialize in stone garden features. A scent of flowers and incense was in the air. And then I went around a bend, and there against the sky was a graveyard! And there, on the other side of the street, more graveyard! Wedged in between the (what I now realized to be) gravestone shops were forests and forests of the graves. No crosses here, just large pillar-like structures with the person’s name engraved on them. I wanted to take photos, but there were so many people there offering incense or flowers that I felt very intrusive just being there. I back-tracked as fast as I could and found myself in another Buddhist temple, the name of which I didn’t bother to figure out. I stared into the koi pond at its entrance for a while, watching enormous black butterflies that flapped lazily over the muddy water, and contemplated my next move. I had given up on the tofu festival when I fled from the graveyard. I thought of all the people interred there and how it didn’t matter anymore that they had been Japanese or whatever. Now they were just dead, and all the beautiful gravestones and incense and flowers were really for the sake of the living, those left behind who need some way to hold on to that loved one. It is really the same in any country. Thinking these Buddhist thoughts I decided I might as well go to Kiyomizu-dera.

I felt more at ease there, the place had a festival atmosphere and was full of foreigners. I wandered around and followed the crowd at first—I felt a little lost and alone since I hadn’t intended to be there that day and had neglected to research Kiyomizu-dera before I left my dorm. There was a giant orange entrance gate and a lovely big bell.

Looking at it I realized all of the sudden how very high I was above the city! I took a deep breath. There was a hall there with some bodhisattvas or other holding court, and a bell-pull to catch their attention. There was also a queue of people paying a 100 yen for something and entering the hall. Wanting in my flustered, lost state to do what everyone else was doing, I got in line. When I paid my 100 yen the little old man at the desk told me to not let go of the handrail. This made me a bit concerned but it was too late to back out now. I cast my eye at the myriad of kanji all around but still couldn’t make out what I’d gotten myself into. I followed some high-school boys down a dark staircase. The air became stale and close and the stones under my bare feet sticky. Oh great, I thought, I paid a 100 yen for the Love Tunnel from the county fair back home. What in the world...I followed the handrail into night. The darkness was still and complete. Far ahead I could hear school-girls shrieking, “Kowaii! Kowaii!” (I’m scared, I’m scared!) The floor under my feet was very cold now and I suddenly felt tiny and 5 years old. I hurried forward a bit, and something brushed my face! It was just noren, a thin curtain. I dashed ahead again and this time my face bumped something solid. Oops! The back of the person in front of me. I held back a bit after that, but the voices I was following started to fade away and I hurried again, this time accidentally sliding my hand under the next person’s as I ran it blindly along the handrail. The hand recoiled as if mine were a snake. Sorry! But I really didn’t want to be alone in that place. Suddenly there was a bit of light, a single dim beam illuminating a large stone with a single kanji on it. Hands shot out into the beam and patted the stone. Then mercifully we hurried on, and up, and out at last. Whew! I came out shivering, having a learned a lesson about the importance of being able to read Japanese.

After this I turned a corner and found the main hall of Kiyomizu-dera. I washed my hands at the dragon-shaped fountain before entering, and it was there I finally relaxed. The graveyard and then the weird black hole had rattled me a bit, but I forgot both in that hall. The views of the tree-covered hillsides and down, out over the valley and city were spectacular and liberating.　

And I was alone, and the time was mine to spend. Lazily I wandered from pillar to pillar along the outside of the hall, looking for the best view. A few ladies were there in gorgeous kimono; I worked up the courage to ask a particularly lovely threesome for their photograph, which made them giggle like little girls. I wandered into the interior of the hall, where candles burned before incense-blackened bodhisattvas and the Goddess of Mercy herself, coins tinkled endlessly into offertory boxes, a great bell droned regularly, and incense curled in the air. It was heavenly.

I took some photos before I realized I wasn’t supposed to: a whispered conversation behind me took shape suddenly and I heard the words, “Shashin wa dame yan” “Aren’t photos not allowed” Oops again. I knew whoever it was was talking about me. I stowed my camera and hurried out of there, to face a rack of votary boards where people had written wishes. There were wishes in Japanese, English, Chinese, and Korean that I could see.

They ranged from the typical—blessings on new marriages, success in career, safety in travel— to some American girl who’d paid 1800 yen to write that she hoped one day to meet Edward from the Twilight series. I smirked at that, feeling a bit ashamed of my country at the same time, and continued my leisurely walk through the grounds. I saw the cutest couple. The girl was in a fuchsia and white kimono, the man in a suit and hung with expensive-looking cameras. They were holding hands, and I caught the glitter of diamonds on their left ring-fingers. The man looked to be about 30. The girl glowed like a 16-year-old at prom, but she was likely 25. He had a shy maturity, she a quick sparkle, yet somehow their happy expressions mirrored each others' exactly. I asked to take their photo too. Oh well, foreigners get away with a lot!

I was a bit dreamy after that, and didn’t notice terribly where I was until I found myself on a path under trees. A delightful fragrance was there. I breathed it deeply. Ah, it was the smell of Japan! I have to explain this a bit. I first smelled this scent (this is embarrassing) when I was 19 on my Japanese boyfriend. It clung to his clothes and belongings. When he was in Japan, letters I got from him carried the scent faintly. I associated the smell with him and was surprised when I got a whiff of the same smell when my Japanese roommate freshman year opened her suitcase, and when my roommate the next year gave me an omamori talisman that smelled the same way. It must be the smell of Japan, I reasoned. This was confirmed when I offered the omamori to a friend to sniff. Her Japanese boyfriend had smelled the same! No way. That was my first boyfriend’s special smell—never mind we had broken up last year and our paths would probably not cross again—how dare she say such a thing. Well Ichi really did smell like that. Oh…well, that’s funny. Our boyfriends smelled the same. Maybe it really is the smell of Japan? Maybe…

Anyway, when I arrived in a Japan a silly little part of me thought it would be nice to encounter that smell again. I wanted to stay in one spot and sniff it for a long time. My first boyfriend’s hair, the omamori, hand-written letters from Japan…the smell brought feelings of longing, friendship, bitter-sweet goodbyes. That smell.

On the street at the foot of the temple I stopped at an ice-cream stand and bought a matcha-flavored cone. I wandered around the shop fronts licking it leisurely, feeling very Audrey Hepburn-from-the-beginning-of-Breakfast-at-Tiffany’s and hoping people noticed. A rickshaw went by, shiny and elegant, the man pulling it up the hill to Kiyomizu-dera puffing and straining and still trying to smilingly give his passengers the history of the temple. At last the matcha ice-cream was gone and I had to go home. On the way back I felt happy being in Japan for the first time. I coasted joyfully down that hill that had been so much trouble that morning, so fast my brakes shrieked in protest for about 30 yards as I slowed down for a red light. Back on Kitaoji-dori, I bought four bananas for 130 yen from an old man at a fruit stand, and shouted “Arigatou!” as I rode off, he waved and shouted "Ookini!"

Oh, it was lovely to be alive, here, in Kyoto, in Japan!

写真ジャーナル・photo post!

2010-09-30T05:04:00.000-07:00

So, I haven't written here at all since I arrived in Japan! It's just hard sometimes finding words that will make my experiences relevant for people back home. I really am a world away.

In these past 3 weeks I've experienced the “nightingale” floors of Nijo Castle, the glow of Kinkakuji, the primeval atmosphere of shrines deep in the forest. I've been welcomed into a church and shooed out of a donut shop; snapped photos of mikoshi (portable shrine) and maiko (apprentice geisha) at a Shinto festival one day and walked the dazzlingly modern streets of Osaka the next. I've managed not to hit anyone with my bicycle and not to lose my extremities to monstrous Kyoto mosquitoes. I've tried out karaoke, squatty potties, and takoyaki (fried octopus—delicious!). I've been told my Japanese is “jouzu” (very good) when it isn't. I'm taking Japanese classes so difficult my head hurts and classes so easy I want to scream. In my dorm I've made friends with German, French, British, Chinese, Taiwanese, and Korean students. Fascinated I’ve watched monks riding autobikes, unbelievably slender women shuffling in kimono, glitzy bleach-blonde couples striding hand-in-hand past dusty brown construction workers on break, a salaryman snogging a pretty young thing under a streetlamp, children crouched around a giant caterpillar under a hot sun. The strangest thing is that they all have more in common with each other than I will ever have with any of them.

It is my secret goal to make a few Japanese friends by the end of the year, we will see! Though Kyoto is beautiful and I've had so many fun days, it is very hard to live here as a foreigner. I came prepared for Japanese culture and attitudes towards foreigners but it's another thing to experience it!

Well, that's all for now, I'll let photos tell the rest.

Kyoto Station.

Hazel, Morgan, Jamie, and Stacey at karaoke. Jamie is singing the Doraemon theme song.

The Kamo River (Kamogawa) that runs in two forks through this area of Kyoto.

The washroom in our dorm.

Fudo-do, Kinkakuji Temple

Kinkakuji!

Doshisha: everyone rides bikes! Mine has been a life-saver.

Nijo Palace.

Torii at Imamiya-jinja.

Ancient and modern live side-by-side in Kyoto!

Kakikori: a yummy shaved-ice treat.

The outer moat at Nijo.

Osaka fashion.

More Osaka fashion:)

Pachinko!

Maiko-san serves tea at the Seimei-jinja autumnal equinox festival.

Takoyaki!

"Sounds like puberty."

Osaka restaurant. Great okonomiyaki, yakisoba, and takoyaki for cheap. Apparently the beer was not so good.

Near Osaka shopping center.

Carina and I went to the Raku Museum!

I make a bento for lunch almost every day. This one is not the best but it has pork, rice, bean sprouts, edamame, matcha daifuku, and banana chips. Yummy^^

Getting Ready - 準備

2010-09-02T20:41:00.000-07:00

あと、六日間しかない。「あっ」という間に出発の日が来ている感じだ。けど、「もうすぐ日本にいる」とか「毎日日本語を使う」とかあまり考えなくて、まだあまり準備しない。家にいるときは現実からの休みみたいだと思ってしまうからかな。今、楽な生活している。毎日、朝寝坊したり、図書館から本を借りったり、プールでダイブの授業をとったりしている...なんか長い間ここにいる感じだけど、やっぱり周りの人はちょっと違う。「いつ日本に行くの？」「もう準備しておきた？」とよく聞かれる。そして、先日家族とハイキングの要諦について話すとき、１１歳の弟は、「リアも来る？」と、「ええ、くるよ」と答えて、弟はすごく嬉しそうな顔して、「よかった！」と言ってくれた。嬉しかったけど、なんか寂しくなってしまった。みんなは私と離れたがらない。ToT　でも、今現在のテクノロジーのために、人と離れる感じはそんなに酷くなくなってきたと思う。もちろんSkypeを使う！そして、前の二年間、日本に行くことを楽しみにしていたので、きっとだいじょうぶだと思う。
では、英語...

Five days to go and I haven't started packing. I feel like I'm not preparing at all, but really packing my bags is all that's left to do now. I've shopped my summer earnings away with a year's supply of makeup and a few new things for my wardrobe (cute light things to combat the heat). I've got the pre-departure shots and dentist and hair-cut out of the way. So I'm being incredibly lazy here at home, eating, reading, and sleeping too much, and hardly studying kanji at all like I should be. I guess I have to recharge my batteries at some point. But going to Japan seems less and less real while at home. I took a dive class, I'm checking out books from the library (Pascal's Pensees and The Ivy Tree by Mary Stewart--Pascal is brilliant but dense, Ivy Tree is a fun Gothic romance ala Jane Erye) as if I'm settling in to stay here a while. When I do think of living in Kyoto my heart starts beating very fast, どきどきする、as the Japanese say. Oh well. It will be a rude awakening when I get off the plane!

And I can't write another word now, because I just saw a dirty great spider go skittering under my bed and I can't stop thinking of it creeping around under there, ugh!! I will be sleeping on the couch upstairs tonight I guess. ><

お休みなさい。出発前に、また書こうと思う。

...ウゥワアっ！蜘大嫌い！！：O　

Napoleon in Egypt: Jean-Léon Gérôme and Going Abroad

2010-08-18T20:25:00.000-07:00

As politically-incorrect as it is, I adore 19th century Orientalism--that is, the European fascination with a Thousand Nights and One Night kind of ideal of things Middle East. In particular I like the French artist Jean-Léon Gérôme (1824-1904). Though his paintings are a "dead white man" 's idea of a different culture, I think they can teach a lot about experiencing one. Here are some of my favorite paintings of his, with what's been going through my mind lately as I prepare to leave for Japan.

Napoleon and His Staff in Egypt

In this painting Napoleon, the Emperor, the conqueror of much of Europe, is looking distinctly uncomfortable astride his camel. Hot and constricted in his uniform, unable to balance on his swaying, bad-tempered mount, his face doesn't show any fight to regain composure, only a grim determination (to not fall off?) and even a child-like anxiety about the journey ahead. The long necks of the camels draw the eye downward and left to the native North-African guide, who pauses with just the hint of a contemptuous smile under his quick brown mustache, waiting to ensure Napoleon can regain control of his camel. Napoleon is experiencing culture-shock! The confusion of a new climate, new methods of transportation, the feeling of having to blindly depend on people whose language and ways he does not understand. No wonder he doesn't have his usual self-assured conqueror look about him.

The Arab and His Steed

This painting tells a heart-rending story. The Arab, grief-stricken, cradles the head of his fallen mount, his uncomplaining companion of many years. Together they have been through countless adventures, dodging bullets, journeying for days on end across barren wastelands, lying together under a deep canopy of stars, the rider's weary head pillowed on the loyal horse's neck. Now this friend of friends is hurt and perishing. The horse's bridle has been torn off and cast aside, and the two exchange a long look. We can sense the Arab's apologetic tears, a particular sorrow anyone who has loved an animal knows. This kind of love and loss is not foreign to us Westerners, but its context and story is. We may have cried over a best cat- or dog-friend, but did that pet ever bear us unflinching through a hedge of flashing spears? The appeal in this painting lies in its romantic deviation from our own experience.

Pelt Merchant of Cairo

When I go abroad in three weeks, I expect the newness of people and things to hold me breathless. Never mind these are all the things Japanese people walk by or use or deal with every day, to me alone they possess an exciting charm. That is what art does too, it shows something we might otherwise walk right by in a way that makes us want to own such beauty, to buy it and hang it above the mantel-piece in the living room. No pelt-merchant in Cairo would want this painting. But, being quite different from a pelt-merchant in Cairo, I do! That is why tourists take such funny photos of the most mundane objects while abroad. Oh hush I know I'll do it too, and I may even take my sketch-book.

La Piscine du Harem

Let's face it, what a lot of these 19th century Orientalists liked most about their subject was the allure of the opposite sex in foreign form. To put it delicately, Charles Baudelaire definitely found cultural norms in the Middle East that fit his amorous preferences.

There are certainly things that greatly appeal to my personality about Japanese culture, where reserve and quiet are virtues, where people don't have to touch to greet each other, where human relationships (ideally) take precedence over individualist ambitions. There are also things I don't like: the way men are controlling and paternal with women, the way foreigners are treated, the way work is often expected to trump family (extensions, ironically, of that collectivist ideal I like!). I'm sure this list of likes and dislikes about Japan will be much longer once I experience living there. For now I know the likes outweigh the dislikes, and that I feel at home in the bits of the culture I have experienced.

Solitude

I've been told I will feel a new kind of loneliness while abroad. This I am a little afraid of. The loneliness I have experienced hasn't made me do anything worse than spend inordinate amounts of time on Facebook, sing by myself, or get misty-eyed over (yet another) meal eaten alone. But who knows how I will take the loneliness of being in a foreign country where no one seems to live or relate to each other in the ways I'm used to. Thanks to modern technology, however, that feeling of separation from others is much easier to assuage. Add me on Skype!

Japanese Imploring a Deity

My faith is very important to me. I find other peoples' faiths fascinating. But no matter where I go or however I might change, my God is with me always and sustains me in ways I don't even know or notice, whether at home or far away from "everything dear and familiar." This is no golden statue speaking, folks:

Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?

If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,

even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.

(Psalm 139:7-10)

(By the way, as corny as "Deity" is, I just love Gérôme's creation of space in it!)

So, I just want to be open, at peace no matter the situation, free to enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime experience for all I'm worth!

Whirling Dervishes

あと一ヶ月しかない　- One More Month

2010-08-08T18:19:00.000-07:00

When I woke up this morning that was the first thought that came to mind. It came in both English and Japanese. One more month! A month from today I will be on a plane over the Pacific, heading to Kyoto, Japan where I will study abroad for a year.

It still doesn't seem real. I haven't received my visa yet. I haven't started packing. But I'm getting a few things put in order. So far I know:

1. what to expect about Kyoto (heat and humidity)
2. what to expect about me (that at first I will be reduced to a childlike dependency and ignorance of the world around me)
3. what books I will bring with me (The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien, The Art of Travel by Alain de Botton, Yankee Hobo in the Orient by John Patric, Black Rain by Masuji Ibuse, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne, and The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Plus various bilingual Bibles and Japanese text/reference books)

I hope this blog will be somewhat bilingual and I can use it to record my thoughts and experiences regularly during the next year--at this time in my life I'm attempting to do something I've never done before!

日本語が話せる友達と先生たち、皆さんのおかげで日本へ留学することができるようになりました。アメリカではいろんな日本に関係がある楽しいことできましたね。これから、京都にいる間、頑張りますけど、やっぱり夏休みとき、日本語の勉強をあまりしなかったですから、緊張しています！

日本へ出発は9月8日です。京都に住んでいる私...創造できません！すぐ京都弁を習ったり、日本人の友達を作ったり、京都の暑さとか電車で通勤とかに慣れるといいんですけどね。

一番緊張していること：
１．日本語（やっぱり）
２．よく道を迷ってしまう
３．ぜんぜん消えない不安な感じ

...けど、全部は神様の手にありますね。

ところで、まだ私の血液型分かりません。それはダメですね。どうして日本人は血液型について気になって、人を分けるかと最近考えています。「A型なら慎重な性質だ」「B型は奔放の生活が好きだ」「ABはリーダーのタイプだ」「Oは何でも起こっても冷静だ」と...本当に科学的な根拠があるだろうかね。じゃ、もうすぐ出会う日本人の意に叶うために、うちの医者さんを尋ねておきます。日本人の考え方に照らして予言：A型（笑）。

A Very Harry Potter Summer

2010-07-21T09:51:00.000-07:00

This summer has been characterized by three things: work, nagging myself to study Japanese in anticipation of study abroad this fall, and another brilliant children’s series from Britain (must be something in the water over there; they write the best!) Harry Potter, which I just read for the first time. Here are my thoughts on the latter:

The Reading Experience

I read the first two books a few years ago, lost interest, and never thought I’d pick them up again. They were too formulaic: Harry finds secret about Hogwarts. Pursues secret using sneaking, spying, and friends. Gets in trouble for breaking school rules. Revelation of secret saves lives/Hogwarts. Harry now hero, end of story, or until the next book when the same thing happens all over again. But after glowing recommendations from a dear friend (thanks Rachel!) I picked up book 3, where the story deepens, and was hooked. You know how Pixar movies create a beautifully detailed world you’ve never seen before, but is totally believable? That’s how Rowling writes. You can almost believe, secret from us non-magic folks, that a Ministry of Magic exists, that wizards experience all the normal problems of human life, like misplacing invisible books and having issues with house-elves. I now have a new appreciation for the fans who waited a year or so between each book! I would peddle my bike down to the library, unashamedly clutching the book I’d just finished to return it and check out the next one. These books were perfect for this summer: working a split shift gave me useless hours in the day, one or two only to rest and try to be productive before the next shift. I escaped into the Harry Potter books! Rowling’s writing style was good enough that I didn’t get caught up in serious flaws, and modern enough to be a breeze to read—the pages flew by with little mental effort, a guilty pleasure after so carefully deciphering each sentence of the older classics I’m used to reading. And at work it gave me things to think about. “What is Hagrid hiding this time?” “Whose side is Snape on anyway?” “Is Harry really a loving person?” On the whole, the books were a welcome diversion.

Magic

The reason I hadn’t read these books until now is that my family decided when they came out that, due to the emphasis the books have on magic (and learning magic, especially), they had no place in a Christian family. In that case, some children's literature by authors we cherish (C.S. Lewis, Tolkien, Roald Dahl) isn’t wholesome fare either. Magic in Harry Potter is portrayed in the way typical of fantasy literature—as a neutral force that can be used for good or evil, ethically or unethically, and the lines are drawn fairly clearly. The good characters use magic to protect, heal, and as a labor-saving device (I wish I could cook with magic like Mrs. Weasley, or dry wet clothes like Hermione, or tidy a room with a sweep of a wand like Dumbledore!). The bad characters use it to harm and rule over others and for personal gain. There is some freaky dark magic associated with the baddies (Harry’s ignorant use of the Sectumsempra curse on Draco was one of the most horrifying moments in the story for me) but it is definitely labeled evil. That doesn’t always stop “good” characters from dabbling in it, however, or from using normal magic to annoy or bully each other. In any case, if you are a Christian, and reading a story that presents magic (erroneously, of course, but very typically) as a neutral thing prickles your conscience, you will probably not enjoy these books.
But contrary to all the hysteria in the Christian community when they came out, reading them will not inspire you to become a Satan-worshiper who dissects cats or dances around a fire under the full moon in hippie clothes. The magic in these books isn’t realistic. Even in its darkness it doesn’t bring to mind real demonic powers, judging from the little I know of that. It never disturbed me for that reason.

Love

A motif of the series is love—it is what protects Harry from the evil Voldemort, what binds him to his friends and family, what gives him courage in the face of danger, and ultimately what allows evil to be defeated and good to conquer in the end. I liked the “love” in the books in that it is expressed in different ways in Harry—in affection, romance, respect, pity, grief, and most importantly, action rather than just feelings. But I had to wonder what Rowling’s definition of love was. For much of the series Harry and his friends, while remaining fairly loving to each other (though shouting and the silent treatment were not uncommon), see no problem with and even gloat about bullying, teasing, and making life miserable for their “enemies.” Maybe as a home-schooled student I have little appreciation for life in a “school”, where the only rules are stay loyal to your clique and bully or be bullied. For the most part, Harry’s “love” for others is very secular in that it doesn’t often extend beyond himself to those who wrong or annoy him. It is what bugged me most about the books, and it is for that, rather than the magic, that I would think twice before letting my youngest siblings read the series. There are some wrong ideas about friendship and love, and some squabbling/teasing techniques that they really don’t need to add to their repertoire, haha.

Characters

Anyone who wants to write realistic characters should learn from J.K. Rowling, after they have finished kissing her feet in unworthiness! The good characters are never truly and wholly “good”—even the wise and kind Dumbledore shows streaks of selfishness and lust for power. Each has flaws, mistakes, and stray thoughts they are ashamed of that make them leap off the page and even become convicting at times. It is a mistake to love and to hate blindly, and even the best motives are fraught with self-interest. Every conversation and bit of dialogue sparkles with life, with the unsaid. Death comes to many of the characters, and it is final and heart-wrenching. Everyone has a friend like Luna Lovegood or Neville Longbottom, or can recognize in themselves bits of Mrs. Weasley, Harry, Sirius Black, Ron or Hermione (her attitude about academics hit me, haha!). Sirius irked me at first. I could just tell Rowling wanted us all to adore him, but some of his childish moods put me off. In the end I decided he is someone we would all want, not as a role model, but maybe as a cousin—the one you go to for adventure and companionship, though not for counsel or understanding. Hagrid was very sweet, sensitive, and never one to judge when doling out his ample affections—I always felt safe when he entered the narrative! My favorite characters are Luna, Lupin, and maybe Snape. Luna is refreshingly odd, very wise, insightful and calm, and just adorable! Remus Lupin is one of the kindest and most mature characters, if a bit gloomy in his uprightness (ha, Twilight fans, there is a were-wolf worth falling for!) And the mysterious Severus Snape, though unsavory, bitter and suffering and taking it out on others, is dear and heroic in the end.

But of course, most of all there’s Harry Potter. Harry is very real, and such a boy—bratty, self-pitying, self-centered, inquisitive, intelligent, loyal, generous, and kind—but I didn’t really like him until the last few books, when his virtues finally began to eclipse his faults. Harry’s growth that makes him a gentler and wiser person as he confronts his different flaws and failings, culminating in his amazing act of self-sacrifice, makes him true to life and loveable, a friend. Maybe we can all learn like Harry to gradually “put away childish things” and become that quiet hero with the lightning scar by choosing the right path even when it is darkest and most difficult.

Wondering

2010-05-03T22:59:00.000-07:00

What would you do
If I told you
That probably maybe incandescently possibly
I like you too?

Why must human feelings come in so many complicated, frustrating forms?

I have two good friends. They both gravitated to me until I am spending most of my free time with them. Both have things about them that oblige me to "be a good example" to offset their immaturity. I like them, but in a way I can't just be myself with them. I don't want their personalities to "rub off on me." Though I want to love them, they are a burden on my heart.

I have a very good teacher who, due to some sudden circumstances, cannot be with us in class anymore. I want to work harder than ever in the class and do little thoughtful things for him during this hard time. The feeling I have for him is pure, but the norm of student/teacher relationships doesn't allow me to express the depth of the sympathy and respect I have for him as another human being. I would either be seen as a "brown-noser" for a good grade or a silly girl with a crush.

I have a "friend" who really puts me on edge. At the best of times it's a guarded tolerance for his eccentricity, at other times I am downright repulsed. How do I tell a "friend" I do not want to be friends anymore? I don't know, so I go on smiling and pretending.

An acquaintance I am obliged to spend time with just really bugs me. There is no other way to put it. She rubs me the wrong way, drives me nuts, whatever idiom tickles your fancy. I wouldn't mind being just civil, but I have to put up a front of being concerned about her and liking her. I dislike the falsity more than I dislike her.

In fact, there is something false in all these relationships. Before I went away to college, relationships were happy, defined, taken for granted. I guess I was very sheltered, or very blessed, because now things are quite different. I have strange feelings and strange relationships. Dislike for my feelings and dislike for "friends" are new experiences.

I think I am just holding out, waiting for something ugly and false in me and others around me to be transfigured into something beautiful and real...

Getting Married...

2010-01-19T21:31:00.000-08:00

...don't worry, not that it's on my horizon anytime soon, but since three or four friends have gotten married or engaged this year, I've been giving it some thought.

I'm not really at the point yet in my life where I'm longing to be to be married. I don't want to deal with the responsibilities of a marriage, or even think about children yet. Recently I've been warming up to the idea of pursuing a career for a while before I pursue family. Most of the time I'm glad I'm single.

I do think marriage would be really good for me. I mean, one of those sanctifying, character-deepening things that would help me become the person I am supposed to be. Not that I'm thinking of marriage only in terms of the benefits to me, but I have this suspicious feeling that marriage would really do the trick in terms of exercising my good qualities and weeding out my shortcomings...so I'm thinking God probably has marriage in mind for me at some point.

Anyway, we'll see when the time comes. For now, here's way too many wedding toppers. I really hate these things, even the perfectly nice ones. I think they're terribly corny and I wouldn't want one on my wedding cake. But here's some funny ones:

Ok, I think I've spent quite enough time harvesting those from around the Internet. 'Till death do us part,

~Leah

Going to Japan!

2009-12-29T14:25:00.000-08:00

It's what I will be doing next year, studying at Kyoto's Doshisha University from September of 2010 to August of 2011. I am just about at the point of feeling ready to do it.

In case my readership, small as it is, isn't familiar with me, I love learning and speaking Japanese (have been for about 4 years), and being with Japanese people. So it's high time I actually went to Japan!

But it's no secret, I do not have a honeymooner's attitude about going. Sometimes I just feel defeated--by money, by the size of the world, by not being bilingual. You see, many people major in things in which they can get a lot of expertise and then write books and accomplish something. The feeling that I'll always be grasping after my goal--fluency--but never quite reaching it, is disheartening. That and the Japanese people themselves. In a way I don't mind the feelings of otherness that sometimes occur when being with them, I know I'm American and different. But it is kind of sad to think of always just sliding off the filmy surface of the bubble of Japaneseness without ever being allowed inside it.

But then some things seem to show I underestimate myself. Praise from a Japanese teacher, good times with a Japanese friend...glimpses of beautiful vistas in which I do things with my language skill, in which two human beings can truly be friends despite a Pacific Ocean of differences. These moments make me realize how much I "feel God's pleasure" when I speak Japanese.

And anyway, how many people do grasp what they're after in this life? In the words of my 3-year-old cousin: "It's hard to get anything you want. You can never get it all. But you can ask for it at Christmas!" Living shouldn't be about that anyway. It should be about doing the best you can with what you do have to help others in the times and places God's given us to be.

And I'll just say it: going to Japan for a year is the freakin' coolest thing I've ever done in my life and I'm scared stiff and excited out of my mind!! :DDD
いってきまーす！

The Great Tempura Incident

2009-11-10T17:44:00.000-08:00

天ぷら事件

最近日本料理を作ってみようと思っていましたけど、和食はちょっと怖いです。色々な分からない食材が作られてやっぱり日本人の料理のし方は不思議だと思って自身が全然持っていません。でも、あの日、「天ぷらは．．．天ぷらなら簡単ですね」と思って、アルバートソンで天ぷらのバッタと蝦と色んな野菜を買いました。楽しみをして友達のアパートに早く行って、すぐに私たちは私の夢のように一緒に天ぷらを作るの準備をしていました。喜んで野菜を切ったり、バッタをミクスしたり、蝦を剥いたりしました。「今まで全部大丈夫ね。和食は難しくないかもしれない！」と思いました。でも、その後、怖いパートがありました。それはフライと呼ばれます。何か緊張して、油下を入るポットの蓋を擡げると急に大波のような煙の雲はアパートをひらがて始めました。それから、すぐに火災刑法を鳴ってしまいました。煙が多かったのでアパートの建物の火災刑法も鳴って、私は「えっ！どうしよう？！」と言ってキャンパスの警察の警吏が来てアラームを消してくれました。警吏のレポートで火災刑法の「理由」ところで「料理」を書きました。警吏と友達に笑われました。友達に、「日本にいたら、そんなことをしないで！もっともっと恥ずかしいね」と言われて、私は日本にいなくても恥ずかしかったです。とにかく、油下を使わないで天ぷらを作りましたけど、この天ぷらは天ぷらじゃなかったです。今からプローに和食を残した方がいいと思いました。

translation:

The Great Tempura Incident

Recently I had been thinking I’d like to try making Japanese food. However, this is a little frightening. The Japanese use so many kinds of ingredients unknown to me, and their way of cooking it all seems a bit mysterious, so I had absolutely no self-confidence in the matter. But a few days ago the thought occurred to me: “Tempura now…tempura’s pretty simple, isn’t it?” so I went to Albertsons nearby and bought the batter, shrimp, and various veggies. Excited, I hurried over to my friend’s apartment, and soon we were happily preparing tempura together just as I’d imagined, cutting up the vegetables, mixing the batter, and peeling the little shimpies. “So far so good,” I thought, “Maybe I can do this!” But after this came the scary part: the cooking. Somewhat nervously I lifted the lid of the pot we had dumped all the oil into. Suddenly, a cloud of smoke billowed out like a tsunami, engulfing the entire apartment. In a matter of seconds the fire alarm went off! There was so much smoke, the general alarm for the entire apartment complex began screeching too! “Oh no! What should we do??” I said, but a campus safety officer came and turned off the alarm for us. In his report, the officer listed the reason for the fire alarms as “cooking,” and I was heartily laughed at by him and my friend, who said, “You’d better not do this when you’re in Japan; that would be really embarrassing!” Even though I wasn’t in Japan I was quite embarrassed. Anyway, we wanted to finish making the tempura, but since we couldn’t use oil the end result barely resembled “tempura.” From now on I think I’ll leave Japanese cooking to the pros.

15 Books

2009-10-28T21:17:00.000-07:00

These are a strange list of books. Many of them have little in common except that they impressed me in some way. Some are favorites from childhood, some deepened my faith, some frigthened me, some disgusted me--all took me to new heights and depths of thought. I'll not forget any of them.

I don't like to include the Bible with other reading, hence its absence. In the order they came to mind:

1. The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien

I generally read this book every year. The characters are dear friends and their quest pulls at something deep inside even though the greatness of it is totally outside of my experience.

2. The Idiot by F.M. Dostoevsky

There is something feverish about the philosophy of this book, something terribly, terribly beautiful but flawed in a way that just makes me love it more. The main character is someone I want to be, and yet I am glad I am not.

3. The Illustrated Man by Ray Bradbury

The writing style of this book took hold of my mind and wouldn't let go, to the degree that I had suicidal thoughts for a few days after reading it.

4. Grimms’ Fairy Tales by the Brothers Grimm

Read when I was about age 6 or 7. In one story a girl turns into a frog-like creature at night. One night she tearfully attempted to rid herself of the curse by cutting apart her webbed fingers. Somehow I was never the same after reading that.

5. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne

I love to escape to this underwater world, where science and a systematic way of looking at the world serve more to emphasize the mystery of things than to explain them. Nemo is such a magnetic character. I still get a bit of a crush on him every time I reread.

6. The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde

Beauty and ugliness, evil and goodness mix in this haunting book. The reader sees his own sins in Dorian so it's not a comfortable read. One of the few books I read for pleasure that roused me enough to write essays refuting some of its ideas.

7. The Gentle Infidel by Lawrence Schoonover

A scene from this fun, epic sword-and-sandal book often comes to mind in moments of trouble. In his moment of need, the main character, a young Muslim warrior, cries out "Father in heaven, Father in heaven!"--all that he remembers of The Lord's Prayer from his distant, Christian childhood...

8. Catherine, Called Birdy by Karen Cushman

Many things about this book still linger in my memory though I haven't read it since I was about 12 or 13. It somehow taught me how to be a teenager, in that it woke up a sense that someday I would become a person, and oh yes...the birds and the bees were rather less mysterious after this book!

9. Black Beauty by Anna Sewell

Read this over and over as a kid. The horses were such living characters, their lives so sad but full of a kind of charm for me.

10. The Lord of the Flies by William Golding

Another book that lodges in the mind through its shocking imagery and disturbing conclusions. Not a favorite, but there is a lot of truth in it.

11. Les Miserables by Victor Hugo

A beautiful book, of many interwoven stories all together of many people and times. Is its own world...and God is somehow on every page: the themes of forgiveness, grace, and love are not to be missed. I'm so glad there are books like this, whole worlds to visit and be changed by.

12. Richard III by Shakespeare

The short passage of evil from quiet plotting, to gaining power, to final destruction by the good guys makes this a great story. Many passages in this book are just too much fun to speak aloud in your best iambic pentameter and a snarly Richard voice.

13. Silence by Shusaku Endo

The first word that comes to mind in describing this book is "miserable"--the trials of Job set in medieval Japan, complete with plenty of poverty and persecutions, make for a depressing read. Offers a different (very Japanese) view of Jesus that I hadn't thought of before.

14. Wives and Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell

What a delightful book! And it isn't all fluff. The author has very wise insights into people's natures, as human beings, as individuals, and especially as women. I never quite warmed up to Jane Austen, Elizabeth Gaskell is more to my liking.

15. The Temple of the Golden Pavilion by Yukio Mishima

The worst thing about reading this book was it's about a very disturbed person, and I sympathized with one too many of his ways of thinking for my comfort. Uh oh. I think it was simply because the author was familiar with human nature, in all its beauty and ugliness.

What books have touched you most? Which books will you never forget?

A Fairly Odd (First) Couple

2009-09-21T22:12:00.001-07:00

According to Mrs. Miyuki Hatoyama, wife of Japan's newly-elected prime minister Yukio Hatoyama, Tom Cruise used to be Japanese. In this article, Mrs. Hatoyama is described as a "tarento"--a sort of TV personality who does just about everything, and is rather expected to be exciting and different from us normal folks. Mrs. Hatoyama claims, among other things, to have visited Venus and to have met Tom Cruise in a past life, when he was Japanese (he must have been a bad Japanese to be punished with being reborn as an American!). Apparently, her husband doesn't frown on her eccentricities, but encourages her. He also submits to Mrs. Hatoyama's extensive knowledge of "life composing"--she selects his wardrobe and styles his hair. Mrs. Hatoyama met the Mr. in the 70s in a San Fransisco restaurant. They married after Mrs. Hatoyama had divorced her first husband. Rather scandalous for an up-and-coming politician like Mr. Hatoyama, but he says, "I chose her from all womankind." It's not in this article, but in another the Prime Minister says his wife is "like an energy refueling base" and that he looks forward to returning to her after a long day of work.

Many commentors on this and similar articles point out how unfit Mrs. Hatoyama's flamboyant personality is for being Japan's First Lady, but I think as a couple they are SO CUTE, and a great example for many societies in which divorce rates continue to climb and politicians too are subject to scandals and rocky marriages. Mrs. Hatoyama supports her husband as the nation's PM, and, far from dampening her personality, she is able to utilize it in helping him. She "brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life" (Prov. 31:12); in return he is supportive of her, warm, and quite devoted. The Hatoyamas may not be the most normal couple out there, but their marriage is seems awfully sweet, and the simple kindness they show each other isn't met with enough in marriages these days.

I hope if I ever marry I can be an "energy refueling base" for my husband, though I don't suppose I'll find it necessary to test his patience with claims of extraterrestrial jaunts.

It's My Lumberjack Reading Keats!!

2009-08-27T21:21:00.000-07:00

Actually it's Abe Lincoln on the new commemorative "formative years" pennies. But when I first saw it I giggled, remembering a previous post about manly men...^^

Why I Dislike American Masculinity

2009-08-03T22:01:00.000-07:00

A friend and I were talking recently about, well, men, and how very scarce a truly attractive man is. Now that we're in our 20s and all mature and old, we don't mean physically attractive: we're looking for someone who thinks. That is, man who is sensitive enough to recognize and value beauty. A man who has original thoughts of his own. A man who reads books--and yet is somehow not a milquetoast. A man who is a man without laboring under the kind of code of masculinity that says you have to 1)love football 2)be banal and coarse 3)devalue intellectual, introspective, and emotional activity, and 4) grow a disgusting neck-beard.

Maybe we're looking for the wrong thing. Maybe we just want "girlfriends in guys' bodies." But really, what is a manly man? Why are lumberjacks seen as so masculine, and poets are not? A lecture in Shakespeare class once piqued my interest (that sounds like the rest of Shakespeare class was boring; it wasn't). Elizabethan ideas of masculinity and femininity were quite different compared to today's: men were the fountains of intellectual beauty. They came up with the best ideas, wrote the best poetry, painted the best pictures, felt the best feelings and emotions. Women, as the bearers of life and equated philosophically with the earth, were carnally-minded and unable to produce or experience such nice things. Oh, they had emotions, but it was just hysteria--because they had wombs (think hysterectomy). Somehow that all got stood on its head--nature and the physical world became man's domain, and the "finer feelings" belonged to woman. Alas and alack for the lumberjack who puts down his chainsaw to compose a few verses about interlacing boughs! He'll be thought a sissy or worse forever by his manlier fellows.

How this came to be is a fascinating question that likely has already been answered by countless researchers, sociologists, and Shakespeare professors. Rather more interesting to my friend and me was commiserating over the fact that a good balance between "brains and brawn" is so hard to come by! If you are every inch a man who is yet proud to be a sensitive thinker, pat yourself on the back. If you're not, well, if you happen to see any lumberjacks reading Keats let me know..

Howl's Moving Castle

2009-07-05T23:34:00.001-07:00

Since I saw Hayao Miyazaki's animated movie before I read this book by Diana Wynne Jones, it is somewhat difficult to review--the images and occurrences of the two stories are quite intertwined in my brain, but I will do my best to sort them out for the purposes of this review.

At first this book was very engaging. It is simply splendid in its uniqueness as a work of children's fantasy. The author's writing style is top-notch and enjoyable. But there were so many plot holes and loose ends! This is my only complaint with the book. Perhaps Jones had so much of the story in her head, she forgot we readers need to be given more. That is the trouble with this book. It does not give to the reader, and this is why the movie gets so mixed up with it in my head. There is very little description (an epic wizard's fight is a ball of dark fog??), characters changed too abruptly without development, and the plot twists were confusing.

And yet somehow I couldn't help falling love (Howl's doing, I'll warrant). The three principle characters: Howl, a dashing young wizard with mysterious charm; Sophie, a stubborn oldest sister under a terrible curse; and Calcifer, an incorrigible fire demon, were all so endearing! Despite the fact that they could have been fleshed out more, they are characters that will linger in fond memories long after the details of this unfortunately flawed book are forgotten.

Harmony

2009-05-13T14:39:00.000-07:00

Psalm 133
A song of ascents. Of David.

1 How good and pleasant it is
when brothers live together in unity!
2 It is like precious oil poured on the head,
running down on the beard,
running down on Aaron's beard,
down upon the collar of his robes.

3 It is as if the dew of Hermon
were falling on Mount Zion.
For there the LORD bestows his blessing,
even life forevermore.

Kabuki

2009-02-19T19:51:00.000-08:00

Who can resist the elaborate costumes, brilliant--and sometimes hideous--make-up, awkward poses, and sheer majesty of kabuki actor prints?

I've recently fallen in love with them.

Kabuki is known as Japan's traditional theater, but it was so colorful and dramatic as to be frowned upon and deemed unfit for cultured people for several years after its emergence in the 1600s. At first the cast was exclusively female, but women were banned from the stage (like Greek theater) as kabuki became more acceptable. This restriction survives, though today there are all-women troupes.

The make-up is called kumadori, and it helps create a character's identity. Red make-up symbolizes strength, rage, or heroism; blue suggests supernatural entities and ghosts; purple marks nobility; and earthtones are used for animals and demons.

Before youtube and glossy posters of celebrities, the great actors of the kabuki stage were captured in print by wood-block artists, in a style known as yakusha-e (actor pictures). Fans still collect the prints--this one is from the 1950s:

Kabuki is still performed today! A few theaters preserve traditions while adapting kabuki to modern times. This young actor has branched out of his family traditions in kabuki and starred in Jet Li's Fearless, among other films.

Ring of Bright Water

2009-01-21T16:03:00.000-08:00

He has married me with a ring, a ring of bright water
Whose ripples travel from the heart of the sea,
He has married me with a ring of light, the glitter
Broadcast on the swift river.
He has married me with the sun's circle
Too dazzling to see, traced in summer sky.
He has crowned me with the wreath of white cloud
That gathers on the snowy summit of the mountain,
Ringed me round with the world-circling wind,
Bound me to the whirlwind's centre.
He has married me with the orbit of the moon
And with the boundless circle of stars,
With the orbits that measure years, months, days, and nights,
Set the tides flowing,
Command the winds to travel or be at rest.

At the ring's centre,
Spirit, or angel troubling the pool,
Causality not in nature,
Finger's touch that summons at a point, a moment
Stars and planets, life and light
Or gathers cloud about an apex of cold,
Transcendent touch of love summons my world into being.

Robert Batemen, River Otters

In Ring of Bright Water, Gavin Maxwell tells his story of life in the Scottish Highlands, at the edge of the sea and with only wild things--deer and geese, wind in the grass, and two special otter friends named Mij and Edal--for company.

The book is very well-written, hilarious and heart-rending, and the sounds and scents of Nature seem to emanate from its pages. There is something fascinating to me about such stories...about people who live just with themselves in some isolated place, surrounded by the mysterious beauty, ever-changing permanence, and tragic joy of nature. This world of innumerable living things and pristine landscapes, whose intricate rhythms we are blind to, is somehow precious to me.

And of course, the otters are just adorable. In the book they are incomparable to any other kind of pet...with their merry dispositions and trusting natures they become a kind of soul mate to the author, fulfilling a deep need. I could never have an otter for a pet, but it is delightful to read about them, especially in such a setting as this wonderful book.

Like the fall weather...

2008-11-06T11:02:00.000-08:00

My special guy says that a woman's mind is like the fall weather--always changing. In this weird, uprooted time in my life I'm inclined to agree. My life has completely changed. I have a new living space in a new environment with new food and new faces. At times I'm excited about the future I'm making for myself and at other times I'm scared stiff and want to run home crying. But I'm finding out I have choices about everything that has to do with my attitude:

I can be stressed, or I can enjoy being productive.

I can be depressed, or I can see beauty in all things.

I can be overwhelmed, or I can give everything to God.

I can be homesick, or I can remember that God is my home.

I can think of the difficulties and uncertainties in the relationship with my special friend, or I can dwell on the far greater blessings and happinesses we have in each other.

I can be lonely, or I can remember that there are people who love me dearly and who are praying for me.

I can worry, or I can trust God.

Sometimes the choice is very hard and has to be a conscious decision. But it's always there. Sometimes my mind flits from one option to another in a matter of minutes...but just knowing I still have power over the way I see things is an encouraging thought.

How about a desert with your meal?

2008-08-19T22:14:00.000-07:00

My employer cracks me up. He'll tease the waitresses who have trouble making change, but then he'll turn around and do something brilliant with the English language.

Recently we got a new computer system for the restaurant. The whole menu is in a computer program, so all you have to do is select which dishes someone ordered and then print the receipt. The first time I used the system, I giggled to see a tab labeled "Deserts" right between Starters and Main Meals. Instantly my imagination flew away: "Sir, will that be a Gobi or a Sahara?" "Would you like some camels on top?" "We can also add nomads with rifles--that really livens it up!" My humor was not well-appreciated.

The bucket labeled "boiled patatos" was almost as good. I wondered what a patato was. They looked like potatoes, but maybe it was a new species we were getting instead of the usual. "Sorry, we're all out of potatoes, but would you like to try a patato? It's basically the same thing."

Today was even better: "Made with real Bourbon and said to be the best pecan pie they have ever had. Yes, even from those with families in the South!" on our new dessert cards. The big question: who are "they"? It seems to suggest some mysterious other...aliens, perhaps? They are out there, you know. Or maybe it refers to something closer to home...earthly creatures of the night like Those-we-do-not-speak-of from The Village (though I prefer "those-of-whom-we-do-not-speak"; it's always better to not end with a preposition). But then I realized the "they" referred to are something much more mundane. They are the comfortably anonymous (and therefore unverifiable) others whose opinions we value and quote so much: "They say it's good for you." "They say a penny saved is a penny earned." "They say it's going to rain tomorrow." "They say our Bourbon pecan pie is the best they've ever had." Sometime, I want to be there when they come in. I want to see what kind of people they are--as they are judging our whole world and we are using their recommendations.

Ah, there are times when I don't mind butcherings of the English language in public places--it brightens my day by giving me something to laugh about.

Chipmunk cheeks...

2008-08-04T18:17:00.000-07:00

This morning I got my wisdom teeth removed. It was not so very bad as my shoulder surgery was--after that, I felt so dizzy all over I thought I was adrift on high seas. I was very annoyed at the nurses trying to make me breathe and eat crackers and stand up--more than once I asked them to please leave me alone and let me die.

This was not so bad. I went in, sat in a chair, and they put a mask on my face. The nurses and surgeon had a radio playing the Beatles in the background and were making jokes about doughnuts or something. Suddenly a horrible wave of dizziness came over me--like the terrifying temporary loss of self that comes of touching a powerful electric fence--and through a huge grin I told them in a smarmy voice that I felt awful. They leaned me back and inserted the IV, and, still smiling happily at the yellow submarines dancing in my head, I went to sleep.

I woke myself up by asking if it was all over. Yes, it was. Two people half-carried me to my car. I don't remember greeting my mom or getting in, but I remember a dapply pattern of leaves' shadows and sunlight on the pavement. There was some kind of large swollen thing on my face near my mouth--it had no feeling and I asked over and over if it was my lips or my tongue. I was very concerned my tongue was hanging out and that it had forever lost all inclination to obey my commands to stay in my mouth. The thing turned out to be my bottom lip so I felt better.

I went home and slept, and as the feeling came back into various parts of my face and mouth, so did the pain. But I am well-stocked on painkillers so it's ok. Hopefully I will have a lot of movies to watch too. I already saw Good Soil, an independent short film about the first Christian samurai who refused to renounce his beliefs even at the threat of terrible tortures. It was lovely but too short...though I loved the time they took to show shots of the empty sea and Jinbei's (the main character) beatific smiles.^^

It ended with a great exchange that went like this:

EVIL INTERROGATOR. Your Christ is a lie. Will you die for a lie? Do you think this is a game?

JINBEI. No...it's a battle. A real battle.

[SHOGUN'S MINION SAMURAI exchange glances. SWORDS are loosened with subtle clicks]

EVIL INTERROGATOR. You have offended our lord!

JINBEI. You have offended the true Lord!

EVIL INTERROGATOR. You have defiled the gods of Japan!

JINBEI. You have defiled the God of heaven and earth!

EVIL INTERROGATOR. Rawwwrrrg!!!

[EVIL INTERROGATOR rushes at JINBEI; a SWORD FIGHT between the lone JINBEI and the SHOGUN'S MINIONS commences]

Yes. It was worth $20.00 for a twenty-minute DVD just for that bit.^^ I would write something philosophical about the film, but I'm on a narcotic and so it's difficult to pin down my thoughts, which are now making and breaking connections like static-y underwear in a dryer--willy-nilly.

Cows have feelings, too!

2008-07-22T22:10:00.001-07:00

I never had much love for cows. They seemed liked unintelligent manure machines with next to no personality. But the other day I went out riding, and from my perch in the saddle noticed in the adjacent pasture a dead cow. I felt sad, because the cow is one of a dwindling herd of positively ancient milk cows--all that's left of the old man's farm who owns the place. They are the ugliest, fattest, most absurd-looking old cows ever, but they are his pets. Everyone who has read James Herriot knows how practical farmers are and how they don't develop feelings for their animals, but these cows have grown old with this man and they are all that is left.

So I was sad to see this poor cow laying there for the old farmer's sake, grimly figuring out how to tell him about it as I rode over to his place, trying to get control of my horse who'd scented the thing and was antsy. But then I heard the strangest sound. It wasn't a moo or a moan like I've heard cows make. It was bawling. This ancient cow came trundling up crying, and stood there staring at its dead friend, bending down to nudge its head. The rest of the herd followed and they all stood around it keeping vigil. It was so sad! I nearly started crying, watching them.

So cows have feelings, too. I have a new respect for them. They showed much more bereavement and concern than my friend's horse ever did when my own horse died, actually. Poor old cows. Anyway, that's all. Lol. My readers can judge whether seeing cows in a new light is monumental enough for a new post.^^

June

2008-06-23T18:17:00.000-07:00

It is summer now, but June was a real springtime for me, even if our weather was unusually contrary to the idea. After being buried so long in school, I caught a nice case of senioritis as graduation came nearer and nearer, and found the end of OC to be only a beginning of many other things.

I find myself in a friendship, one quite different from any I've hitherto experienced. Twitterpated is a good word, if silly--it suggests the mutual delight in each other's company we seem to share.^^ And here I'd been thinking, "Wow. I'm 19, and have never met anyone I could like. Maybe there isn't anyone out there." I met him a month or so later.

Our relationship is very new, and we are going to different schools for the next few years, but we want to keep in touch and see what happens. I worry a little about losing him, but I know God has a plan in mind for both of us. So, it's been a beautiful, happy June; we will see what comes of it. It's been just wonderful spending time with him.

I go to Linfield at the end of August--I'm a wee bit trepidatious of going out and living alone. I will have no friends or family around to begin with. I hope my roommate is nice. I hope I can get into Japanese 201 and do well in it. I hope I don't have to take math, and that all my OC credits transfer. So far, Linfield doesn't seem too different from OC, except that I will live on campus. I would never want to live at OC, lol! So I hope I can like dorm life ok.

This summer I am working--not a lot yet; I'm trying to get a second job in order to be working full-time. Out of desperation I've applied to McD's. Oh well. If he can go from a professional position in a company to the graveyard shift at a convenience store, I can swallow my pride and work at McD's for a summer.^^

Now is the winter of our discontent...

2008-05-01T22:05:00.000-07:00

Made glorious summer by this sun...

I think it's finally Spring. With the sun, gentle rains, and warmer weather I've lost my motivation for school. Or maybe it's senioritis, but it's a good thing I'm taking fun electives this quarter.

I love Shakespeare class finally. The first two plays we did (Titus Andronicus and All's Well That Ends Well) were disappointing...everyone talks about how wonderful Shakespeare is, and I always thought that meant my kind of wonderful. Well, he hadn't been wonderful until Richard III. I've barely read the first Act and I know it's going to be amazing. It's the kind of tragic story I like, I think. Here's a clip of Al Pacino and Winona Ryder doing one of my favorite scenes...Richard's strange wooing of Lady Anne:

I don't like how she smiles in the end. In the Olivier version, there is an intense kiss but she still looks sad and confused--much more tension that way. But Pacino does the hunched back and evil laugh better.

And the words in this play! Words, words, words! The words have such truth and power behind them. They aren't like the kind of words we say today without thinking, they're not used or thought of the same way. Today we don't think of words as having anymore truth or meaning beyond what individuals want them to mean. I think we could stand to learn more Shakespeare, to learn the rhythm of words that have real feeling behind them...then maybe we'd speak less and mean more.

Sufferin' catfish!

2008-04-19T15:45:00.000-07:00

The other day a classmate was trying to get signatures for a petition for the Death with Dignity Act in my state (which ain't Oregon). I asked my classmate, Why? and she said, "So they don't have to suffer." Ok. I wonder if she supports the Suicide Prevention Club that's been advertised on campus...

Dostoevsky was convinced man was not made to be happy, but to suffer. Through suffering he became what Maslow would call self-actualized--he became morally developed and spiritually regenerated. Suffering for Dostoevsky became a natural part of life, even something holy and desirable.

Most Christians see things a little differently. We are "self-actualized" not through our own sufferings, but through Christ's. And yet suffering is not without its purpose--and in this is Christ's redeeming power seen, in that even something as painful and horrible as suffering is made to bring about his glory and the good of his people. That purpose is simply to bring peoples' humbled minds and hearts towards himself. So in a sense Dostoevsky was quite right about the beneficial side of suffering...it is good for the soul. Troubles are supposed to make us better, not bitter people.

I remember a scene in Kurosawa's film Akahige in which a proud young doctor watches an old man die in great pain. The doctor is utterly repulsed. A senior doctor says to the grieving family, "Of course, he died quietly without pain," and the expression on the young doctor's face is indescribable. Afterwards, he is less proud. He treats his patients with compassion. He realizes that suffering merits his love and empathy.

I do not think suffering is good. It had no place in the original order of things. To wallow in it is unhealthy. But to take poison in order to avoid it is also unhealthy, because it has a purpose for the human soul. That is why the suffering of an animal is terrible--why it is ethical to put animals "out of their misery", but never human beings.

This Death with Dignity Act seems to me to be an issue with deeper purposes than just "freedom to determine your own health care." It seems to be a product of a culture that denies difficulties and only lives for "feeling good." It also seems to be the product of a belief that humans are, after all, only a kind of animal, and so their suffering is meaningless.

"To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering, one must not love. But then, one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer; not to love is to suffer; to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy, then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be happy, one must love or love to suffer or suffer from too much happiness."

--Woody Allen

Fix You

2008-04-04T17:38:00.000-07:00

"Fix You". 24"x19", graphite. 2008.

How do you go to war against people who are willing to go to war like this? Who with proud smiles end their lives in explosions? Sadly, we still must face this question today.

I did this one from a photograph. I'm sort of fascinated by kamikaze. You could say I owe my existence to the failure of one of them--my grandpa worked on the deck of an aircraft carrier in the Pacific during WWII, and his ship was targeted by kamikaze but it missed. If it had hit, my grandfather could have been killed, and then I wouldn't be here. Strange to think about.

Disenchanted

2008-03-30T12:52:00.000-07:00

I know loneliness is a voluntary condition, but I seem to have slipped in it without realizing. The problem is, my two closest friends went away to college last fall, so I feel like I have no one. I have a few friends at school, but they are as studious as I am so we don't see much of each other. For some reason I also take forever to make friends--most people I come into contact with remain distant acquaintances. My brother has a large circle of new "friends from school"; the majority of my "friends from school" I knew previously from co-op classes and church and such years ago.

Anyway, I think all this friend-less-ness resulted in my spending a lot of time socializing on the Internet--with my friends who are away and also with strangers. But it just isn't the same. It's as if you have to share lots of things--space, experiences, face-to-face conversation--for a friendship to be fulfilling. So I'm rather disenchanted with Internet socializing presently.

I remember at the beginning of these two years my brother got dismal grades and I got stellar ones. I told him I didn't waste time goofing off with people who don't study. I told him I thought of school as a place to learn and get a degree, not a place to socialize. That was before my good friends had moved away. Now I think I'm relaxing a bit.:) I always do that at the end of things.

I think I just need to get more comfortable with sharing myself with people. I'm always so reserved! I mean, what is that kind of introvert doing with a language major? I will have to work hard to be successful, because though I love studying language, the applications of that study scare me and go against my nature. The idea of teaching just makes me start praying. :D So, I'm feeling more and more pressure to shape up and be more outgoing. We'll see what I do with that. And I think this rant is long enough: I'm also kind of fed up with putting personal thoughts online...since I don't give them out much, they have to go somewhere, but once again the Internet seems a poor substitute.

The Garden of Gethsemane

2008-03-21T15:28:00.000-07:00

Kesra Hoffman, Olive Grove, Corfu.

The turn in the road was illumined
By the indifferent glimmer of the remote stars.
The road led around the Mount of Olives;
Below, in its valley, the brook Kedron ran.

Halfway, the small meadow dipped in a sharp break;
Beyond it began the great Milky Way,
While the silver-grey olives still strained forward
As if to stride onward upon empty air.

Furthest away was someone's garden plot.
He left His disciples outside the stone fence
Saying, "My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death;
Tarry ye here, and watch with me."

He had rejected without resistance
Dominion over all things and the power to work miracles,
As though these had been His only on loan
And now was as all mortals are, even as we.

Night's distance seemed the very brink
Of annihilation, of nonexistence.
The universe's span was void of any life;
The garden only was a coign of being.

And peering into these black abysses--
Void, without end and without beginning--
His brow sweating blood, He pleaded with His Father
That this cup of death might pass from Him.

Having eased His mortal anguish through prayer,
He left the garden. Beyond its wall His disciples,
Overcome with sleep, sprawled on the ground
In the wayside feathergrass.

He awakened them: "God has granted you to live
During my days on earth, and yet you lie there sprawling.
Behold, the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man
Shall betray Himself into the hands of sinners."

He had scarcely spoken when, coming from none knew where,
A throng of slaves sprang up, a host of vagrant men,
With swords and torches, and at their head stood Judas
With the perfidious kiss writhing on his lips.

Peter drew sword and thrust the cutthroats back
And struck a man and smote off his ear.
Whereon he heard, "No metal can resolve dissension.
Put up thy sword again into its place.

Thinkest thou my Father would not send
Sky-darkening hosts of winged legions to my succor?
And without harming even a hair of mine
My enemies would scatter, leaving no trace behind.

But now the book of life has reached a page
Which is more precious than are all the holies.
That which was written now must be fulfilled.
Fulfillèd be it, then. Amen.

Seest thou, the passing of the ages is like a parable
And in its passing it may burst into flame.
In the name, then, of its awesome majesty
I shall, in voluntary torments, descend into my grave.

I shall descend into my grave. And on the third day rise again.
And, even as rafts float down a river,
So shall the centuries drift, trailing like a caravan,
Coming for judgment, out of the dark, to me."

--Boris Pasternak

Sensei

2008-03-13T17:00:00.001-07:00

I'm writing this post because of something we're finally beginning to learn in Japanese class: casual, every-day speech. When we began, my teacher said, "I'm so excited to teach you this!" And here's why:

Unlike English, Japanese grammar and speech are largely determined by whatever social situation you happen to be in. Formal speech is very correct and is what you learn in the classroom. Informal speech is what Japanese use among family members, inferiors, and close friends. Social context and language are hardwired and nearly inseparable in the Japanese brain--and a person's register (level of politeness in speech) determines how you'll interact with him. So politeness for the Japanese is not necessarily being aware of someone's feelings (being "nice")--it's respect and doing what's expected, and it creates emotional distance.

Most people think of teaching as the act of opening up and giving information to the student. But can "teaching" ever be withholding information, blocking a student from some aspect of the subject?

My Japanese teacher admits to never teaching her students casual speech. She never uses it around them, either. "If they go to Japan, I want them to have a good experience. Japanese people are sensitive to mistakes...and it's better to be too polite than not polite enough. It's not me [always using polite speech], I'm very laid back and I like to personally bond with my students. I cried so much because I was lonely...but you know, it's for the best."

After our session of casual speech practice, Sensei said to me: "After only half an hour of talking with you this way, I feel emotionally bonded to you. I've known you for more than a year, but now I really feel bonded." She laughed at her silliness, but her eyes had tears in them.

Suddenly, many things fell into place all at once. The stereotype of Japanese being polite, but always so cold and distant, became my own creation through the way I spoke to them. My teacher has given me a key, it's now within my reach and up to me to use it correctly--foreigners can connect with the Japanese if they take the time to learn how. I always thought if I lived in Japan, I'd love it, but I'd be lonely and maybe even miserable. And now I know I'll be fine...I have the key to making friends and connecting emotionally with these people. Isn't it funny that the key is in the sounds you make when you talk? What is so oozingly polite about "Dochira kara irasshaimashitaka?" as opposed to the very comfortable "Doko kara?"

Anyway. The other great discovery was the knowledge of my sensei's sacrifice for us. I've known her for a while; I know she works amazingly hard for her students. I knew she always spoke to us in a distantly polite way. I never knew it was all a great emotional strain. I don't hold it against her for not exposing us to casual speech sooner: if I had learned it earlier before I knew my sensei so well, the immense power over mind and emotion Japanese words have--the power to connect or to divide--would have been lost on me. And I need to learn that power. The difference between registers can't remain just different sounds to my ear--for me to use them correctly, I have to know automatically how they affect others.

So here's to my sensei--who is without doubt the best teacher I've ever learned from at OC. She has given me so much more than just knowledge of the Japanese language or even what it means to be a great teacher: she's given me a look into the Japanese mind and heart.

Eavesdropping

2008-03-06T10:55:00.001-08:00

Sometimes, on a bus, one can't help it. Not many people talk on the bus, but those that do nearly always do it very loudly for all to hear. Here are some conversations I've overheard lately:

Between a young couple:

Girl: Our relationship can't be one-on-one. It's just about you--you're selfish. That's why your ankle hurts. It's karma.

Guy: My ankle hurts because I jumped down a flight of twenty stairs. That's physics, not karma.

Girl: No but the point is, your ankle hurts because you're too selfish.

Between two scruffy older men:

The bum: Well, you've been through it, so you can let go. But when someone mentions Vietnam to me, I get so mad...

The veteran: Yeah, you can't let it eat you, man. You have to let it go. But feel this...feel my forehead right there. No, ya gotta pinch it like this...

Bum: Ooh! Shrapnel?

Veteran: Nope, it's a bullet. A whole bullet. I've got shrapnel here in the back of my head.

Bum: You haven't got 'em taken out?

Veteran: Nah...if it ain't broke, don't fix it. 'Sides, they'd do more damage trying to get 'em out.

Bum: Yeah well, it's a great conversation starter.

Same pair of men, different time:

Bum: Well, last night I slept in a warm bed. And I had a warm meal--pizza, no less.

Veteran: Nice.

Bum: Yeah. Come here. I'm gonna look in your eyes and see your soul (laughing). I can do that. I can tell people by their eyes (stares at Veteran).

Veteran: Well I...I look at the heart, man. Ya gotta look at the heart.

Bum: Well you're right, I'm not Superman, I don't got X-ray vision--only God sees the heart.

Veteran: Mmhmm. So you mean eyes are windows to the soul.

Bum: Aw, I dunno. This isn't a morning conversation. I haven't had coffee.

Veteran: Man, you say that every time I try to have an intellectual conversation witchyou (laughing).

It's very interesting sometimes, being on a bus. There are people that don't look at all interesting or very...deep, but then they start talking and all these stories come out--funny, strange, sad. It just makes me wonder about them, and I wish I had a sketchbook to draw the most interesting ones. The bus is often so uncomfortable and smelly and creepy, I'll be glad when my arm heals enough to drive my car...but for now, the bus stories are fascinating.

Nineteen

2008-02-08T11:44:00.000-08:00

So, the end of last month was my birthday...I'm now nineteen years old. I've lived so long! I thought when I turned eighteen that would be a milestone but nineteen is seeming so much older. I don't feel older as much as I think I should feel older...a quarter to a fifth of my life is behind me and I've done nothing worthwhile yet. Is it because I've really done nothing or have my ideas of what's worthwhile changed before I have? In any case, I'm thinking it's really time to start getting a move-on in life. But for some reason I'm more apathetic than I think I should be about this next year...my parents are more excited/nervous about my college stuff and such than I am.

Coming up next week is a scholarship competition at Linfield...I'm doing the Japanese exam, which involves a written test and an interview, for big bucks too. Scary! My Japanese teachers and classmates at OC have been really supportive though...I'm glad I have such an excited team cheering me on. Hopefully I'll do well!

Sow for yourselves righteousness,
reap the fruit of unfailing love,
and break up your unplowed ground;
for it is time to seek the LORD,
until he comes
and showers righteousness on you. (Hosea 10:12)

Rhapsodies

2008-01-22T18:47:00.000-08:00

My final drawing for last quarter's art class, "The Intellectual".

A lot of things have been happening around here lately...but then again not very much.

I had surgery in my right shoulder last month; it was nothing major but I'm getting tired of wearing a sling and not being able to use my right hand. I did a few left-handed drawings, and have tried doing gentle right-handed work as I gain more mobility. Right now I'm doing one of kamikazes that's going to be KICK-AWESOME. *dreams Zero fighters and aviator goggles*

I applied to Linfield College in Oregon and to Western Washington, and have been accepted by both! I haven't heard back from UW yet, but I'll probably have to make a three-way decision. I really want to go to Linfield--I think--but it's so expensive it's really out of our league, so we'll see how many scholarships I can get. They've already given me a very generous one, but it still doesn't cut it. If I don't sound particularly excited it's because I'm so uncertain...I know in my head that college is the best thing, but something is holding me back from really going for it. Every monumental decision about my future to date has been made by my parents, and I'm not sure why. My dad asked me what I want out of life, and I couldn't answer him. I think it's because I have too many interests. I'd never settled on anything "to be when I grow up", except an artist, but I don't want to do art school. I think I've settled on Japanese for a major. I have no idea where it will take me, but I love it and I have a feeling it will pay better than an art major. I've got past thinking my major determines what I'll do for the rest of my life, but I still wish I could have a clearer sense of where God wants me.

Last quarter I was so lonely...my four closest friends all moved away to college and such, and I had absolutely no one left at church or school. Luckily this quarter I have at least one good friend in all three of my classes, so I'm feeling much better (if studying less). This quarter is my second-to-last one at OC! It's so exciting and sad. I daresay I will miss it. This is really the first quarter I've gotten into the community somewhat...I used to leave as soon as my last class was over and avoid the Student Center like the plague, but I'm in it almost every day now. I always make friends on the last day of class, or fall in love with my school the last quarter I'm there. Oh well.

Here's the classes I'm taking currently:

General Psychology -starts at 7:00 AM. Fun! It still looks dark as midnight when I get there. I love seeing Venus though. Such a pretty planet.
Linguistic Anthropology -is great fun. The teacher is hilarious if vulgar and I love the material.
Physical Geography -meh. I FINALLY understand solstices and equinoxes, though! This class has a lab. Unfortunately all we've done so far is mapping and GPS techniques; no baking-soda volcanoes yet. I will keep you posted.

I think that's it for now. Oh! check this dude out...Maksim Mrvica, a Croatian pianist punk. I can't find my favorite of his, "Croatian Rhapsody", but this one is fun and a good showcase of his style:

They cannot conquer forever!

2007-12-19T20:19:00.000-08:00

My, it's been a long time since I've been around Bloggerland. The sirens of Facebook and the busyness of life often call me away from my old haunts...but here I am, whether or no anyone else is about. I do want to write out a few things that have been on my mind lately.

I've become aware of a strange phenomenon through my classes at OC, which this past quarter were Human Geography and a Political Science class. And the very strange thing about it is, is it's not an absurdity only the politically-correct politicians are going on about. Very quickly it's filtered down into the opinions of almost every student on campus (it is funny, in the PolySci class we talk about thinking for oneself and not trusting government, and then the next minute someone spouts off as if his own opinion some bunk he's heard on TV) and really into the opinions of very many people throughout the country. It makes me sad, because it seems few are doing any research for themselves beyond what politicians, celebrities, and the media say, but there it is.

This is nothing other than grave misconceptions about Islam. First of all, the truth about Islam matters, recent events make this apparent. Yet in this time when understanding and truth about Islam is so very crucial, we see everywhere the truth distorted, covered up, left out--in general, abused. The West has failed.

I will not go through all the many points where this occurs, but I will address the one most obvious to me, that is manifest in many ways: cultural shaming. Americans and Westerners in general are for some reason very apologetic about their culture. We are very easily ashamed of ourselves, hold little pride in our accomplishments, and fault ourselves first when things don't go smoothly between peoples. I do not know why this is, but it is not healthy! Western culture has in truth done so much for civilization, and it is vital for its survival to take more pride in it. It is the West that has taken the biggest, most influential strides in so many things: science, art, medicine, philosophy, political systems, literature, technology, mathematics, exploration...the list goes on and on.

I think a lot of politicians and Muslim apologists are very aware of this quirk of ours and exploit it. How easy it is to destroy a culture if its own people have been steadily taught to be ashamed of it! That is another fact about Islam, actually: its goal, as taught in the Koran and agreed upon even today by its recognized scholars, is for Islam to reign supreme over the world. That means throwing out everyone else's culture and religion and replacing it. And don't think it's at all tolerant! This isn't fanatical Islam either, but true, fundamental Islam done by the book, which has its own cultural rules down to how you dress, how you eat, and how you run a country.

But, Muslim countries today aren't the most powerful militarily. Terrorism is a spotty means of spreading Islamic rule in the hearts of people. What is left? The cultural side of things. And so far, Muslims are pretty successful: Americans are ashamed of themselves, hating their own war, and Europe is finding its populations changing to predominately Muslims. After centuries of weakness thanks to the Crusades, the Muslim world is again gathering itself and making a stab at domination. Will it be successful? It's up to us. What can we do? Hit the books! Learn the truth about history, especially about the Crusades and the beginnings of Islam. Read the Koran, and if it's confusing, read helps like The Politically Incorrect Guide to Islam or Behind the Veil: Unmasking Islam. Regain a proper pride in your own Western culture, and learn to value it as a unique and successful culture. You can also fight back: write, talk, discuss, teach.

This post is not meant to inspire hatred or fear of Islam or Middle Eastern peoples, but rather a proper understanding. Sad conflict in the Middle East has been going for centuries, and more than ever people need to work for peace. In fact, many Muslims and Middle Eastern peoples are turning in great numbers to Christianity. These precious new believers need our prayers, because they are often ostracized from family and forced to hide or flee. So, with that last more hopeful thought, I will end this very long post. Later perhaps I will do a Christmas post and explain some things that have happened to me lately, but for now, goodnight, and peace to any and all who pass this blog...

~L

Tears of the Saints

2007-11-03T20:17:00.001-07:00

It's true I don't generally like "Christian" music. Half the time it's so preachy with mediocre lyrics and little technical quality. But this song, "Tears of the Saints" by Leeland, is a really good one. The chorus is especially good--I couldn't find the song on Radio Blog, but it's worth buying. The first time I heard it, I got goosebumps:

There are many prodigal sons
On our city streets they run
Searching for shelter
There are homes broken down
People’s hopes have fallen to the ground
From failures

This is an emergency!

There are tears from the saints
For the lost and unsaved
We’re crying for them come back home
We’re crying for them come back home
And all your children will stretch out their hands
And pick up the crippled man
Father, we will lead them home
Father, we will lead them home

There are schools full of hatred
Even churches have forsaken
Love and mercy
May we see this generation
In its state of desperation
For Your glory

This is an emergency!

There are tears from the saints
For the lost and unsaved
We’re crying for them come back home
We’re crying for them come back home
And all your children will stretch out their hands
And pick up the crippled man
Father, we will lead them home
Father, we will lead them home

Sinner, reach out your hands!
Children in Christ you stand!
Sinner, reach out your hands!
Children in Christ you stand!

There are tears from the saints
For the lost and unsaved
We’re crying for them come back home
We’re crying for them come back home
And all Your children will stretch out their hands
And pick up the crippled man
Father, we will lead them home
Father, we will lead them home...

Back to autumn...

2007-10-15T19:25:00.000-07:00

This fall marks the beginning of my second year at OC, and my being a Senior. It's kind of scary...graduation is only two quarters away and I hope I can get all my credits done in time. I'm also beginning to narrow down my focus for which colleges I transfer to, and am starting to apply to some.

This quarter I am taking...

Politcal Science & Literature- more great book discussions than lectures on politics, this was a good class for me to take. I've already learned I do have an opinion on politics, and quite a stubborn one at that. I've lost all hope for my Western civilization--because PCness will kill us yet and the stuff that comes out of these liberals' mouths make me wish something huge would happen, because 9/11 obviously wasn't enough to wake them up. I also learned I hate reading comic books, and how to say "pince-nez".

Human Geography- my teacher is British and therefore fun to listen to. Cultures and languages are always interesting to study. However, so much about climate change and population makes me have even less hope for humanity...we like to create more issues for ourselves as if we didn't have enough, and we've forgotten how to effectively deal with the ones we do have. PCness again!!

Drawing 1- sometime later we will do live nude studies, and I haven't decided what to do about that. My teacher is no help at all. The class is great, though. I'm doing art again, spending whole hours drawing very hard and studiously...for homework and in class! It isn't "school" when it's so much fun. Oh, and the teacher kind of looks like Gepetto (sp?) from Disney's Pinocchio...

Japanese Conversation- a non-credit class offered by my sensei from last year. It's so much fun. There's only about six students, and each class time someone brings snacks and tea, and then there's a dictation, and then some conversation about a particular topic (last week it was movies, the week before why Japanese people don't hug) and then we study whatever we like for the next hour. Lots of laughter and good-old-times in that class. I am pretty much sure I'm going to major in Japanese--I've been paying attention to how much I like being in all the different classes I've taken.

Colleges I'm thinking of transferring to:

UW- probably the most practical and perhaps the best choice. Close to home, gorgeous, small Japanese program, study abroad opportunities, doable cost. It is just a wee bit too big though...

Linfield- small school in Oregon. Beautiful campus, friendly faculty, awesome Japanese program and art studio. Pricey though, and 6+ hours from home...

Western Washington- ok...not bad, not terribly exciting. Near relatives and a favorite lake. My back-up choice.

Other News: I got my braces off yesterday!! *goes around grinning like a Cheshire cat*...

Honeymoonwalking

2007-09-22T19:56:00.000-07:00

I've figured out where I want to go for my honeymoon (if and when such a thing is necessary). I'm really not the been-planning-my-wedding-since-I-was-5 sort, but as I'm reading through the Old Testament, I'm noticing it mentions a region called Jezreel a lot. So, I decided to research it, since I didn't know specifics about the place.

Isn't it beautiful? In 1852 Bayard Taylor wrote of it, "....one of the richest districts in the world. It is now a green sea, covered with fields of wheat and barley, or great grazing tracts, on which multitudes of sheep and goats are wandering." Not too much has changed, as it's still Israel's breadbasket--well-watered with many springs and rivers. Historically, it was once a sort of flood-plain where the Dead Sea connected with the Mediterranean. Tectonic forces later thrust up the land, leaving the Dead Sea high and dry, with a nice basin in between. This was widely used up until modern times by Bedouins and traders and such, as it afforded easy passage through the excruciatingly rugged Holy Land.
It's a huge valley, and is sometimes just called "The Valley" in the Bible. It includes cities like Nazareth and Megiddo, with Mt. Carmel on one end and Mt. Tabor on the other. It's the site of many great Biblical battles and things--in the future the Armageddon's supposed to take place in it--and Gideon's spring is there. There's a swimming pool built in it now, so you can paddle about in the water Gideon used to test his soldiers by watching how they drank.
So, that's where my honeymoon's going to be. Or maybe it would be better to go there when I'm not delightfully distracted by a very new significant other. :P

My brother is teaching me how to moonwalk. It's simple really: creating the illusion of forward motion whilst managing to move smoothly backwards. It's the smooth part that's got me stuck, but I get practice on our slick kitchen floor. I also have to work on not sticking my behind out, because that looks really funny. Well, you can make anything look funny if you stick your behind out while doing it--and that's a principle.
My family is funny. Thanks to our particularly funny dad, we love humor and become well-trained in it. It's so bad, when my littlest 2-year-old brother is naughty, he cries not because he's being reprimanded, but because no one liked his joke.

Well, I think I've bored yall enough with my lessons on Semitic geography and 80's dance moves, and in any case I must away ere break of day and all that. *moonwalks out the door, humming "Hava Nagilah"*

Swordfish

2007-09-14T17:35:00.000-07:00

A difficult question that's been plaguing me: Would you rather your head was twice the normal size, or half the normal size?

I think that's enough randomness for now...

The Greatest Comandment and Imagination

2007-08-29T18:18:00.000-07:00

'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' (Matthew 22:37-39)

Lately, as most of you probably know, I've been working in a restaurant and going to school at a community college.

I've also been getting into a little Rousseau and Shelley.

And I've been thinking a lot about my art and drawing--where I'll take it, whether I should major or minor in studio art come college, what its purpose might be.

What do all these have in common? Well, from the time I first began to think deeply about myself, I've felt a developing burden to love people. To show grace when it's not shown to me. To have a servant's heart. These are things I daily struggle for. Books like The Idiot and Les Miserables, and movies like Akahige and Hotel Rwanda became my favorites. Also I've felt the need for some purpose for my artistic abilities, and I wondered what it might be. How can one love people through art? Donations? Volunteer work? I've wanted something bigger. Something transforming. And then I ran into a concept of Rousseau's, also developed and held by Shelley, about imagination and love.

It's simple, really. That true, selfless love for others requires that one has an active imagination: to love someone as yourself, you must be able to think of that person outside of yourself and your own opinions, and imagine yourself in their shoes. To love actively, you must have understanding. And to have understanding, you must be able to imagine what things are like for them, what their world views and opinions might be, what their ideals of life are. Imagination makes all this possible. "Beauty will save the world." says Dostoevsky, but it takes a certain kind of imagination, like faith, to appreciate this uncreated Beauty.

It doesn't take much contact with the world to see how very little love of this sort is out there. The world is cold, proud, and self-centered, and rapidly disengaging itself from its Christian upbringing. More and more it is in need of people who create and imagine, and use those gifts to love--to love God, and their neighbors as themselves. Suddenly everything done for this purpose looks transcendent. I think the way I should then live, and the purpose for my skills, are in there somewhere. Now I see as through a glass darkly, but am beginning to see more clearly where art and imagination can reach that "still point" and meet God--and become a God-given purpose.

Samurai flicks!

2007-08-17T15:25:00.000-07:00

Whether they're full of sword-slashing action, humor, tragedy, drama, or social commentary, good samurai flicks always seem to offer a lot concerning human nature and its quirks...and all touch on the moral paradox of someone who, called by his class to live nobly and with integrity, also calls an instrument of death his soul.

Since I've started learning Japanese, I've had an appetite for hearing it spoken as much as possible. I began to overload our NetFlix queue with all sorts of Japanese movies, much to the dismay of those in our household who are too young to read subtitles. So my parents gave me my own queue...every week I get a new Japanese movie to watch. Since I'm not overly fond of horror or anime, I've become quite a samurai-film buff. :) So grab the popcorn sushi, 'cause here are some of the best samurai flicks I've encountered thus far:

Samurai I: Miyamoto Musashi (1954)- Hiroshi Iganaki
The first of a trilogy, Hiroshi Iganaki's film detailing the life of Miyamoto Musashi is such a fun movie. It has everything: awesome sword-fights, interesting moral dilemmas, love triangles, Toshiro Mifune...but it's not all fluff. The characters are rich and excellently developed, and the moral conflicts as a man is transformed from a blood-thirsty brute to well...a man, and eventually Japan's most famous samurai and swordsman, generate a lot of food for thought. For all his occasional melodrama, this director has a great understanding of human nature that makes this film (II and III are also very good) a 7/10 all around.

Hara-kiri (1962)- Masayuki Kobayashi
Don't let the title scare you away! This is truly the only movie I've ever seen that I'd rate a solid 10/10. Technically, its cinematography is masterful and excellent. It's a tragic story of the power of love and family ties; it's a brutal criticism of bushido (a subtle condemnation of the Japanese government during WWII) as an empty life of facades without heart or meaning. The most excellent Tastuya Nakadai stars as the bereaved grandfather who undertakes revenge for his young son-in-law--who was forced to commit hara-kiri with a bamboo blade. Beautiful and heart-wrenching...not to be missed!

Ugetsu (1953)- Kenji Mizoguchi
This is an absolutely gorgeous film about the ravages of ambition and wartime on the families the men leave behind. It's a ghost-story, a love story, and something of a samurai film. It is a very Buddhist film, as it dwells on the impermanence of human life, and how our rash and selfish decisions often come back to haunt us. We learn along with the main characters to be content and treasure our families better than anything the world can tantalize us with...because they will not last forever. It's a beautiful, lyrical 8/10.

The Hidden Fortress (1958)- Akira Kurosawa
You can't very well talk samurai films without bringing up Kurosawa. This film is pure fun. The humor is just great...the two squabbling peasants (George Lucas's inspiration for C-3PO and R2D2) and Toshiro Mifune as the Jedi-like protector of an orphaned princess all make this story-driven film a real treat. A rollicking 7/10...but, if you only see one samurai movie in your lifetime, watch Kurosawa's Seven Samurai. I chose not to review that one because it needs a whole post to itself...

Twilight Samurai (2002)- Yoji Yamada
I could watch this movie over and over. Gently and slowly, it tells the story of Iguchi Seibei (played by the great Hiroyuki Sanada) an impoverished widower samurai who lives for his two little daughters and the love of a childhood sweetheart. This is not your usual samurai film...there a couple fight scenes, but it's about a man who loves above all peace and his little family, and reluctantly takes up his sword only when the unstable world of Japan in the 1800's puts him in a perilous situation: he is hired by his lord to kill an expert swordsman, and seems about to lose the life he treasures. A lovely, bitter-sweet 8/10.

I finished Math class...

2007-08-10T09:06:00.000-07:00

...but Math class didn't finish me! HA!

Yup...it wasn't easy, but I finished Math 119 Pre-Calculus and College Algebra. Freedom! No more math classes ever. It wasn't all that terrible really: I did discover I'm reasonably good at math--I've even had a professor ask if I'd ever considered becoming a math major. I tried to break it to him gently that despite my grade in his class, in my heart of hearts I despised logarithms with the fiery passion of a thousand suns.

It actually got kind of interesting by the end...math really is a language, with its own grammar rules and orthography, all used like spoken language to define and describe things. There is a rhythm and mystery in numbers that gives it a sort of austere beauty...but you know, it's just not my cup of tea. A young engineer-in-the-making in my class said to me on the day of the final, "This is only the beginning for me! This is my life!" And suddenly I had this horrible vision of endless days of recognizing parabolas in Roman arches, and mentally forming the price of bananas at the grocery store into a function of price per pound, and thinking of the Law of Cooling every time you make a cup of coffee...but since he was a rather cute nerd, I felt pity for him.

So, since I'm a liberal arts major at heart, it's adieu to classes nerdy and mathematical and back to my beloved basket-weaving...hurrah!

Crime and Punishment

2007-08-03T17:44:00.000-07:00

Well, after reading Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment in early July, I wanted to write a blog about it, but even after several weeks of thinking of it I haven't figured out anything very coherent to say. So I'll turn this into an art review instead, and hopefully say something intelligent about the book in the process.

The above piece is a block-print by Stephen Alcorn, entitled "Crime and Punishment". Like Dostoevsky's novel, this print is rich in symbolism. Raskolnikov, the murderer and the protagonist in the novel, is shown here, the folds of his clothing suggesting the open pages of many books and papers. I find this symbolism very fitting. Raskolnikov is made up of theories. He is a former student, and like the character Ivan Karamazov in The Brothers Karamazov, Raskolnikov became entrenched in theory instead of life. Convinced by an overweening and morbid pride in himself that he was an extraordinary man with a moral right to overstep the laws of mankind, he decides he must commit a murder. What follows is a paroxysm of spiritual torture and intense suffering. "I did not murder the old pawn-broker woman," Raskolnikov reasons at last, "I've murdered myself!" As the police inspector Profiry Petrovitch puts it, "If he has a conscience he will suffer for his mistake. That will be his punishment--as well as his prison." Raskolnikov's egoistical theory of the extraordinary man is shown to be greatly flawed.

But, shown against a window--a source of light--someone holds a different Book out to him, and we seem to know right away what it is--a Bible. This is Sonya. She is not a heroine in the story, she is a saint. A harlot who supports her impoverished mother and siblings with her shameful earnings, she and Raskolnikov are immediately drawn to each other. Both have transgressed, both suffer for it. But Sonya is different. She has no duplicity of character to wrestle with. She is one and whole, devoted to her God and His power of forgiveness and redemption. She loves Raskolnikov deeply despite himself.

Written rather early on in Dostoevsky's spiritual development, many questions raised in the book are left unanswered, and Raskolnikov's "conversion" in the epilogue is unconvincing, because Raskolnikov is as yet unconvinced. But there, as in this wonderful painting, someone still stands in the light and holds a Book out to him, waiting...

One day in the life of Leah

2007-07-19T07:32:00.001-07:00

Much earlier in the morning than is decent -By this time I'm up and showered. My day doesn't start until then. :)
I eat breakfast...and my daily cup of tea.
7:10 -I set aside about half an hour here for Bible reading--right now I'm going through Hebrews.
A few minutes later -I'm off to OC! The commute takes longer than I'd like, but it's generally rather pretty out in the early morning.
I get to school, and wait around until 8:30 with my classmates because the door to the classroom is always locked. We talk about our homework...but today Artyom had us all laughing as he reenacted how he felt last night, after drinking too many energy drinks.
9:50-ish- Math class is over...when we literally had four minutes of class left, our professor gave us a "brief introduction" to the next chapter; it was funny how we all plopped down after we'd already packed up, and got out our notes again to scribble frantically. I head home.
10:20 or so- I have time to change my clothes and grab a bite of second breakfast, then it's off to work! This schedule has forced me to form strange eating habits--these days I like to eat about a handful of food 4-5 times a day.
Work is ok. A nice old man makes jokes, and noticing the 50 yen on a chain around my neck, shows me the same coin he keeps on his keyring for luck. But then two unwashed-looking persons come in, and they smell so bad I can hardly stand near them and keep smiling politely. I do get to lick the brownie batter whisk and spoon later, so all is well.
3 PM-ish- My shift is over, I might drop by the library before heading home. If I made good tips, I'll go to the bookstore in Poulsbo and indulge myself.
At the Hour of the Monkey -I'm home, reading or laying around feeling worn out. When it's hot, I'll go for a dip in our pool. I manage to rouse myself for dinner.
7:00--10-ish- My dad and I go over my math homework for the next day. It generally takes 3 hours. It's nice having my dad to myself for a bit, even if all we do is talk math. On the days I don't have homework, I might be cozying up at this time with one of my Japanese films from NetFlix...recently I saw Ugetsu, a very beautiful and sad old movie.
After the math is done- Bedtime! I settle down with a few pages of Walden. I keep a dictionary nearby for words I don't know..."mortise" and "tenon" are news ones I came across recently.
And then it's off to the land of Nod, but it always seems when my alarm goes off that I've only just closed my eyes...

So yes, that is a typical day for me. I really am living in step with a clock...I'm always checking them no matter what I'm doing to make sure I'm not late or spending too much time on something. :| But it's a rhythm and one quickly gets used to it. I do look forward to a month's break after this summer quarter ends! I can last three more weeks...

Independence Day

2007-07-03T17:34:00.000-07:00

It's good we have at least one day to be unashamedly proud of our country...or at least make a show of it by having hot-dogs and fireworks. Yup. One must admit, there's still a lot of good in this country, and it's worth celebrating (and fighting for)!
So have a happy 4th! I won't say "be safe" because fireworks aren't (it would defeat the purpose if they were) but at least don't do anything incredibly stupid. Heehee.
Have a good one!

Sayonara...

2007-06-17T20:30:00.001-07:00

So, my three quarters of Japanese instruction at OC are over. This is a photo of most of us on a trip to a posh sushi restaurant in Seattle last month--I'm the one laughing my head off in the front row. It was such a great class--after nine months together, sensei and students got pretty close. There is talk of a Japanese club, and a scheme of Kawasaki-sensei's to have 200 level Japanese in the fall in non-credit classes. But I really miss that class. I will have to major in Japanese so I can take more classes. :)

Tomorrow I start the summer session with Math 119 (Pre-Cal and Algebra). I have to do well, or else I take it again in the fall (20 credits all together!) and miss out on those 200 level classes Sensei's planning. This last quarter I was taking Japanese III, Geography I, and Math 99, all of which I got A's in, which was fun.

I'll also be working a lot this summer at a restaurant in Poulsbo. It's hard work but it pays well and I make great tips. There is also a hint of unpredictability about it...I never know what kind of shift I'll have there, what kind of people I'll wait on. Generally, it's old couples and businessmen, but yesterday we had a cavalcade of biker dudes come in, about 15 at once. That was interesting.

So that's where I am educationally, employeeatically, spiritually, and grammatically...I say sayonara to spring, and get ready to dive into a hectic summer. :P But to Japanese I will only say jaa mata ne...until later! ;)

The Kite Runner

2007-06-06T11:43:00.000-07:00

"I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded, not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night." --Khaled Hosseini

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini is a rare book. It tells the story of Amir, a young writer living in America who must face the disturbing story of his swift childhood in Kabul, Afghanistan. As a boy, he lived for the admiration of his gruff father and the friendship between himself and the servant's son, Hassan, despite the fact that Hassan was a Hazara and a Shi'a, and Amir a higher-class Pashtun and a Sunni Muslim. As Amir grows up in the peaceful, beautiful Afghanistan of the early 70's, flying and running kites with Hassan, he begins to discover that his life and family is intertwined with secrets, jealousies, and betrayals. Slowly the differences in class begin to grow between them, and Amir at last abandons the pure, Christ-like Hassan to tragedy as the Soviets invade and the Afghanistan of Amir's childhood is lost.

Twenty years after he and his father fled to America, consumed with guilt and remorse, Amir returns to an Afghanistan ravaged by the Taliban. There he must face himself and the consequences of his past life...seeking at last to redeem himself in the squalid, miserable streets of Kabul.

This novel is written so well, in its own assured and slow way, its poignancy so convincing at times, that I forgot I was reading a novel and not an autobiography. A great book concerning guilt, forgiveness, and redemption--a story soon to be a major film in November--it is one not to be missed (I will warn those faint of heart, for the novel does not flinch from referencing the atrocities of evil and the Taliban, including pedophiles and the abuse of children).

In America, Spoiling the End is a mortal sin. But Afghans want to know, and ask their friends who have seen recent movies: is there happiness in the end? Of his own story Amir cannot say--and yet, the light of a smile "wide as the Valley of Panjsher" lingers there...

A great song...

2007-05-20T19:27:00.000-07:00

This is an early 60's song by Kyu Sakamoto, a wonderful singer whose cheery face and expressive voice caught the hearts and hopes of a war-torn Japan...until his death in a tragic plane crash in 1985. You may know him as the artist who did the popular but inaptly named "Sukiyaki", but this song, "Miagetegoran Yoru no Hoshi wo" is my favorite of his.

They sure don't make singers like they used to. ;)

Atlas Shrugged

2007-05-11T11:25:00.000-07:00

Who is John Galt? This is the despairing question asked at least once in almost each chapter of Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged. John Galt is the man who stopped the motor of the world.

"The world you desired can be won, it exists, it is real, it is possible, it's yours. But to win it requires total dedication and a total break with the world of your past, with the doctrine that man is sacrificial animal who exists for the pleasure of others. Fight for the value of your person. Fight for the virtue of your pride. Fight for the essence, which is man, for his sovereign rational mind. Fight with the radiant certainty and the absolute rectitude of knowing that yours is the morality of life and yours is the battle for any achievement, any value, any grandeur, any goodness, any joy that has ever existed on this earth." -Ayn Rand

Set in an indefinite time in America, the conflict of the novel is between the "men of the mind" and the "looter" society the world. In a world governed by the looters, where brother-love is the only absolute and weakness is the currency of the realm, a few glorious existentialists yet remain who fight for the world as it should be: a prosperous, capitalistic world of production and profit, where men are paid according to ability and each man's pursuit of his own happiness through production is the sum of existence. Everything "given" must be deserved, bought, and paid for, even love: "To love is to value. Only a rationally selfish man, a man of self-esteem, is capable of love-because he is the only man capable of holding firm, consistent, uncompromising, unbetrayed values..." But Atlas shrugs, the motor of the world is stopped by the ones who have kept it in motion. As the world's industries crumble and society is given over to darkness, self-destruction, and starvation, the men of the mind disappear to their Atlantis, to wait for a morning when the world is silent, empty, and ready for rebirth. "We never had to take it seriously," said John Galt.

In this novel, mankind is portrayed as the victim of being taught for centuries by looters and mystics that the mind and the ego are evil, and selflessness is the only true morality. This teaching is called the most immoral invention of man's since he invented God (incidentally, he did so based on himself, the same way he invented the Devil). For selflessness implies a sacrifice, and sacrifice implies the good given for the bad, the moral for the immoral, the innocent for the guilty. In love, the highest virtue is love undeserved, love for a person's flaws. "Evil be thou my good" says this dogma of selflessness. In Atlas Shrugged, this is the epitome of evil.

What does the Christian, whose life is based on and defined by Christ's sacrifice, say to this? That Christ's sacrifice was a holy payment, a sacrifice to transform the bad, the immoral, and the guilty. Christ alone is perfect, only His sacrifice is perfect. We are not called to live for other men, but love them as we love ourselves. The world is not locked in a struggle between the moral and the immoral. It is being transformed. There are not only the joys, beauties, and accomplishments of this life to live for--each has a higher, more wonderful version beyond the walls of this world. Yes, behind every skyscraper, train, and motor there is a human mind who recognized his need and filled it, who saw that A is A and let nothing separate his vision from reality, his mind from his body. But what, John Galt, is behind the mind? Motors are made. What set in the mind motion and endowed it with power and reason? God. He is, He is. And those two words are my answer.

I feel random, how 'bout you?

2007-04-20T11:18:00.000-07:00

Don't worry, on the real IQ test I got something more believable...

30 of the MOST Spontaneous Questions Ever, BE HONEST.

1. Where were you 2 hours ago? At my first-ever day at my new job!!

2. Who will be your next kiss? Hm…reserve is no match for Justin’s fat little cheeks!

3 Are you wearing socks right now? Actually I’m not! I’m wearing sandals. Well not sandals…more like a cloggish thing. But not clogs. Almost like slippers. But they’ve got a slight heel. Yeah…

4. When was the last time you went out of the state? A couple years ago.

5. Have you been to the movies in the last 5 days? Nope, sadly.

6. What was the last thing you had to drink? Water!

7. What are you wearing right now? Jeans, a collared shirt, the aforementioned footwear, and a sort of jacket…thing.

8. What was your last purchase? Books! Let's see-- Traditional Asian Plays, The Demon of Cawnpore by Jules Verne, and a really nice copy of The Scarlet Letter by Hawthorne.

10. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? My employer at the BBQ, informing me I'd been hired. B)

11. Have you bought any clothing items in the last week? Nope. I haven’t bought clothes in forever.

12. Do you have a pet? A cat and two goldfish.

13. What's the last sporting event you watched? Oh gosh…the Superbowl. I never watch sports, lol.

14. If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be? Japan.

15. What is the last thing you purchased online? Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog) by Jerome K. Jerome, for Hayley. An absolutely hysterical book. Don’t read it in public…you’ll get funny looks. Lol.

16. Do you miss anyone? Yes!

17. Last play you saw? High School Musical!

18. What are your plans for the day? Uh, do some homework, go to school, go to bed.

19. Ever go to camp? Nope. Well I’ve been camping but never to a “camp” camp…

20. Were you an honor roll student in school? No idea…I was home schooled. I don’t know anything! hehee..

21. What do you know about the future?That it isn’t what it used to be. Ha. That’s deep.

22. Are you wearing any perfume or cologne? Nada.

23. Where is your best friend located? Most of them seem concentrated around Eastern Washington. :)

24. Do you have a tan? Actually I do a little! I’s so excited! I went out in the sun for an hour and I have tan lines already. W00t! :P

25. What age do you want to have kids? Hm…20-something I guess.

26. Last person who made you cry? Me, myself, and I. lol.

27. Do you have any tattoos or piercings? I’ve got pierced ears.

28. What is your mood? Tired, grumpy about a math homework problem I know I got wrong…first wrong one this quarter. Arg.

29. Are you someone’s best friend? Yup!

30. What are you doing right now? Eating lunch whilst pottering around on the Internet. I made a grilled cheese sandwhich that's cracker-jack. One slice of Muenster cheese with a liberal sprinkling of feta cheese and bacon bits between white whole wheat bread. Yum!!

2007-04-14T15:06:00.000-07:00

Yan Nascimbene. Puddle.

Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion!

2007-04-06T12:22:00.000-07:00

Georgia O'Keefe. Black Cross, New Mexico, 1929.

"Verily, verily, I say unto you, That ye shall weep and lament, but the world shall rejoice: and ye shall be sorrowful, but your sorrow shall be turned into joy....and ye now therefore have sorrow: but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you." --John 17:20-23

Happy Easter!

The Samurai

2007-03-27T10:30:00.000-07:00

The Samurai, by Shusaku Endo, is the tale of East and West, faith and apostasy, and love and distrust. In this quiet, very visual historical novel, the rural, soft-spoken and reticent samurai Hasekura Rokuemon is chosen, along with three others of his rank, to act as an envoy to the West. The year is 1613, and after thousands of years of fuedal isolation, Japan is beginning to face the outside world. In the process of unification by a ruthless Shogun, the country is far from stable. In one breath things foreign are wonderful and desirable, in the next, they mean death to those who bring them into the country. In this sea of turmoil, Father Velasco, a Franciscan missionary with the tenacity and passion of the Apostle Paul, is sent with the four envoys by the chieftain of the Sendai fief to visit the West. Velasco goes to allay papal fears of persecution and bring to the spiritual starved and stubborn Japan more padres and missionaries of his Order, and the envoys go to represent a friendly Japan with the hopes of securing trade agreements. The separate missions intertwined lead them across the sea to the Viceroy of Mexico and eventually to Pope Paul V himself in Rome.

The experiences of the samurai, one of the first Japanese to step on Western soil, are painted as vividly and simply as a haiku. The long, arduous sea voyages, the wide white deserts of Mexico, the disgusting, oily foreign food, the immense cathedrals of Rome...many things grand and unimaginable. But strangest of all in Hasekura's eyes is something he sees everywhere in the West, painted in enormous frescoes in cathedrals and hung on the walls of the crudest monastery cells--the figure of a man: emaciated, ugly, naked, and hung on a cross. Every place he stays there is such a man to look down at him. The samurai is puzzled as to why so many worship this miserable peasant and call Him "Lord." He cannot conceive of becoming a Christian--that would be betraying his family, ancestors, village, and identity as a samurai--but when he returns home unwelcomed to a cold and xenophobic Japan, adrift in a new sea of futility and betrayal, he finds a solace in the strange spiritual Lord he is not even sure he believes in.

Though Catholic in persuasion, the novel is a must-read for all believers, unbelievers, and everyone in between, as a moving study of faith--the contrast between Velasco's unquenchable fire and Hasekura's quiet, gradual acceptance is very interesting--in an historical time of great change.

Eh...wassup Doc?

2007-03-06T14:59:00.000-08:00

Meh. I wish the quarter was over. I wished that all last week, too. I'll muddle through somehow, I guess. Argh. I am never ever EVER taking 20 credits ever again. Don't do it! It leaves you absolutely no time to over achieve academically. Heehee. I'm getting B's I think...my happiness would be complete if I could at least get A's in English and Japanese.

I am so annoyed by the people who slack, don't turn in homework, don't show up, and then complain about low grades. I feel like telling them, "Well gee, guess whose fault that is!" Seriously. I think everyone has the ability to do well in school if they would just commit. It's not like I'm a brainiac or something...I just do my best to fulfill my profs' expectations. Anyway...

Here's a blog yall need to visit: Sane Sensations: A Synesthetic Memoir. One of my friends from an online forum, Nathanael (pictured above), is synesthetic--he has a mental gift that allows him to see music as different colors. It's fascinating...he likes purple music a lot. Green music is ok, but he really doesn't like orange music that much at all. Check it out!

Kore de owari desu (that's all, folks). I'll probably do a nice glory-and-trumpets post when the quarter ends...

I heart PLANKTON!!

2007-02-21T21:29:00.000-08:00

Yes, I admit, my biology teacher has made a nut out of me: I discovered plankton in lab the other day. I sat winking into a microscope for two hours absolutely fascinated. Just look at these incredible creations!

A gastropod larvae, actually. Lots of plankton is actually larvae of other organisms like crabs and starfish. Barnacles have the weirdest plankton larvae...they have claws then.

Rodifers are my absolute favorite. Cheeky little buggers.

Diatoms. Quite lovely specimens I must say.

Some jellyfish are so minuscule they're considered plankton!

A mollusk's larvae, I believe. Isn't it adorable?

This is a full-grown animal. Not sure what it's called...its ugly and completely unfitting Latin name escapes me...

Another gorgeous somebody whose name I forget...

Plankton in a drop of water in the eye of a needle. Now that's amazing. Isn't God wonderful. I love how He did plankton...!

(I highly recommend this site: http://www.imagequest3d.com/ if you want to see more photos. 'Tis where I found lots of the ones I posted.)

Letters from Iwo Jima

2007-02-13T09:29:00.000-08:00

Ken Watanabe in "Letters from Iwo Jima"

Sometimes--every once in a while--they make movies you can call films and think about for days. One such film is Clint Eastwood's Letters from Iwo Jima. A companion to his Flags of our Fathers (which I've yet to see), it tells the story of the Japanese defense of Iwo Jima in WWII from the Japanese point of view, starring Ken Watanabe as the duty-bound but compassionate General Kuribayashi who is obliged to defend the tiny island as best he may. The muted colors, haunting soundtrack, exceptional actors, historical accuracy and authentic Japanese dialogue all make this film a real treat.

I went to see it with a little trepidation. War movies are such ticklish things; I went gritting my teeth for anti-war messages and a whole lot of PCness. I was pleasantly surprised. The film was much more subtle than simply being politically correct. It allows the viewer to draw his own conclusions. Mine were these:

War is one of those horrific things that can bring out either the very best or the very worst in men. In this film we see both, and that's how it's so human. Some of the greatest stories of heroism and sacrifice come from WWII, as well as the most awful stories of atrocious cruelty. Not all of the Japanese soldiers in this film were heroes, but not all of them were fanatical animals either, which I think is true. Some of them definitely tugged at your heartstrings. Those who did so displayed attitudes rebellious to their superiors or the ideals of fanatical Imperialism. They showed mercy to others and thought only of their families they had left behind and had little hope of seeing again.

But how good is good? One thing the film did was blur the line a little between Japanese and Western morals--probably to keep the film accessible and relate the sympathetic characters to Western minds--when in fact Japanese concepts of morals are considerably different from our Western, Christianity-based concepts.

Another danger in representing the fact that there were good and bad men on both sides is you can lose sight of why we Americans needed to win the war in the first place. We talk about being anti-war, but who is pro-war? No one actually likes it! The thing is as long as humans are human, we'll have wars and rumors of wars. But being in the military and fighting wars isn't about being against people or ideologies, it is about being for certain things, in our case our Western society with its ideas of democracy and foundation in Christianity.

The thought this film left me with was that my very own grandfather was a part of that world and that war. Even in my own family, we have come full circle. My grandfather fought against the Japanese. Now I devote a large part of my time learning the Japanese language, which I love, with the thought that someday I will visit that beautiful country and maybe even teach there. I am so very glad I am able to experience--in the small way that I do--the friendship between our two countries, which I believe was made possible only through all those who stood up for America and won that war.

1989--a Momentous Moment in History

2007-01-27T20:53:00.000-08:00

1989...the Berlin Wall, Tiananmen Square, the Dalai Lama, Gorbachev, funny hair, funny music...and me!! Yup, I was born on this day 18 years ago, when people thought looking like this was cool:

Wow. So long ago in the unenlightened past.

To answer the question: do you feel older? No...I don't really feel ready to be 18. I still enjoy the Finn Family Moomintroll books. I still don't like peas. I still don't know how to put on makeup right. I still don't have a driver's license. I still feel very small and childish going to those college classes all by myself. I guess that what comes of of being smothered by an over-protective and narrow-minded homeschooling enviroment, huh.

Teeheehee!! I can't type straight with that picture sitting right there. I don't usually post our family portraits on here, but this one has great historical value. My hair still hasn't recovered.

Oh, another cool milestone today--this is my 100th post on this blog. No joke!

Also for the first time in my life I'm ill on my birthday and can't eat my own birthday cake. But things will get better, you'll see. Because now at last I can vote. Heehee.

~L

The Wow List

2007-01-09T09:27:00.000-08:00

So I stole this idea from Zita...it's great! Thanks, Karendil. :) Without further ado, in no particular order, I present the Wow List 2006:

1. Being Jewish for a youth theatre production of Fiddler on the Roof. Think little boys complete with vests, knickers, yarmulkas, and prayer-shawls, and Rabbis, and Fyedkas in perfect Russian boots, and music and music and music...wow.

2. I won Best of Class, Best of Show, and First Place for two of my drawings at the Fair. Wow.

3. I learned to drive, I got braces (did you know teeth can throb?), and I started classes at OC. Wow.

4. Go to a beach by the ocean. A long, long sandy wide beach with green tree-covered cliffy sort of hills behind, and the silvery ocean stretching into infinity before you, preferably with a good scent of the salt and a good sound of gulls and surf. Set out a deck chair, and wrap yourself in a cozy blanket, because the wind makes it chilly. Read the book you brought with you, Treasure Island. Wow.

5. I am learning Japanese. Oya! (wow) Check out my Japanese blog!

6. The Brothers Karamazov. Wow.

7. An heir to the imperial throne of Japan, little Prince Hisahito, was born this year. This is a wow thing, because no heir apparent was forthcoming for quite some time and people were getting worried. The imperial bloodline has continued from at least the 5th century A.D. Wow.

8. My British cousins came over to visit. They are goldsmiths, and they are actually my third cousins twice removed. Their kids are my third cousins thrice removed. We figured it all out. Wow.

9. I received my first real artistic commission. Real as in I get money. Wow.

10. Did you know that pi is between 3 and 4? I mean, there's infinity between each number. How does it fit? Wow.

2007-01-04T13:59:00.000-08:00

I think this is what you'd call a cookie monster:

Should auld acquaintance be forgot...

2006-12-30T20:59:00.000-08:00

Kambei! Nostrovia! Mazel tov! Cheers!

I wish you all the best in the New Year!

~L

Merry Christmas!

2006-12-24T21:13:00.000-08:00

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.
--Isaiah 9:2

Merry Christmas.

~Leah

Is Christmas a sin?

2006-12-19T16:39:00.000-08:00

While most Christians lament about how commercial Christmas gets, or it's so subjected to PCness, this year I've been wondering a rather opposite argument. Should we, as Christians, celebrate this man-made holiday? Should we celebrate it as the religious rite we often make it?

The argument that Christians should not celebrate this holiday comes from the fact that Christmas is not prescribed or mentioned in the Bible. We are told to "Do this in remembrance of Me." (emphasis added) "This" being communion, not Christmas. I was talking with my mom about Hanukkah, and what it comes from. It has a lovely story. I asked Mom if she thought the event the Jews celebrate is true. She thinks so, even though it's mentioned in the Apocrypha, not the Bible. "Why don't we celebrate it, then?" I asked. "Because it's not one of the feasts commanded by God in the Bible." Well, neither is Valentine's Day, or St. Patrick's Day, or Christmas!

The argument draws support from Bible verses like these:

Jeremiah 10:2 Thus saith the LORD, Learn not the way of the heathen, and be not dismayed at the signs of heaven; for the heathen are dismayed at them.
10:3 For the customs of the people are vain: for one cutteth a tree out of the forest, the work of the hands of the workman, with the axe.
10:4 They deck it with silver and with gold; they fasten it with nails and with hammers, that it move not. (emphasis added)

Leviticus 18:1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying,
18:2 Speak unto the children of Israel, and say unto them, I am the LORD your God.
18:3 After the doings of the land of Egypt, wherein ye dwelt, shall ye not do: and after the doings of the land of Canaan, whither I bring you, shall ye not do: neither shall ye walk in their ordinances.
18:4 Ye shall do my judgments, and keep mine ordinances, to walk therein: I am the LORD your God.

These verses command us Christians to not follow pagan ways, holidays, or customs. To use these verses in support of this argument makes the assumption that the 25 of December was once a pagan holiday that Christians took over.

The feast, Natalis Solis Invicti, celebrated by the Romans as the rebirth of the sun-god Sol, took place on December 25. However, this pagan feast was first begun by Emperor Aurelian in order to try and revive old paganisms. It didn't catch on, and the December 25th date for Christmas had already been celebrated many years earlier by the Christians. In this case, the pagans copied the Christians, not the other way around, as is too often reported and believed.

Whether a replacement of a pagan holiday or not, should we still celebrate it? Should we have church services on this day? Plenty of Christians don't, remembering Paul's admonition not to celebrate feasts and special days. Some Christians don't put up Christmas trees, seeing the decorating of a tree as a pagan tradition (which I nearly think it is, since it's mentioned in the Bible as such).

When I was little, I was confronted with the fact that Santa Claus was not real. Now I am confronted with the idea held by many God-fearing Christians that Christmas is wrong. I just have to say that a year without Christmas would be awfully cheerless indeed. Why not celebrate what the earth had been groaning for since the Fall? The angels rejoiced that day, and so did Simeon and Elizabeth. Why shouldn't we, even if we don't know the exact date?

As an acquaintance said: "Just about every unspoiled element of Christmas, exchanging gifts, lights, traditions, music, scented candles, family, friends, good-will-toward-men-upon-whom-His-favor-rests, and altogether celebrating the incarnation of God in the form of His created ones ... this is wonderous, this can be holy, this can further glorify God as we enjoy Him forever!"

Merry Christmas!

~Leah

I score!

2006-12-14T12:03:00.000-08:00

Well, I just got my grades for last quarter today. Check them out:

TERM     COURSE ID         -------- TITLE --------       GRADE      
A672     ART   100         ART APPRECIATION               4.0            
       ENGL  101         COMPOSITION                    4.0            
       FLJPN 101         JAPANESE I                     4.0

W00t! How's that for a nice start at OC? Well, now it'll get hard...

This post brought to you by the number four:

Finis...for now

2006-12-08T10:41:00.000-08:00

Glory and trumpets! I've finished my first quarter of Running Start. I concluded the quarter with my final Japanese exam, which I took assisted by a raging 101.3 fever. Yes, I am sick, but it's nice because I don't feel guilty lying around and reading for hours, something I haven't been able to indulge in for months. It's no wonder I got sick; I can't hold out long when I haven't read literature for extended periods of time. I felt all dried out, as if I hadn't thought or worked my brain for months. Now that Break is here I'm reading and drawing again, and feeling much better for it.
I did do some things last quarter...here are some of my best doodles, done in the most boring classes, of course:

A little boy with a kitten

A little samurai dude..no clue where he came from (or where he's going, for that matter)...

Xanthos and Balios, done in one class

Ahmed Shah Massoud. Guy's life was an interesting story. Done over a week of classes.

"Papa-san's Horse" (Otosan no uma). This one I did over a week or two for a friend.

But I have been a good student, really. I'm pretty sure I've got A's in all my classes. B's at the very least. I just had to find some way of entertaining myself while teachers went on long tangents about how to apply wallpaper, how different people talk about sex, and how and when to pee during triathlons. Yup. The things you learn in community college...

SNOW!

2006-11-27T15:27:00.000-08:00

Look what it's doing at my house!

It started yesterday morning, lasted all day, and melted off the trees a little this afternoon. Now it's snowing again and I'm so happy! We've got about five inches now.

OC Poulsbo closed and I didn't have any classes today. So I went outside and made a snow angel.

It's so pretty outside right now. It's coming down light and feathery and it looks like I'm in a snow-globe...

It's beginning to look a lot like...

2006-11-25T13:37:00.000-08:00

...Christmas!

1. Eggnog or hot chocolate? I thirst. Give me eggnog.

2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree?
Well I suppose he has his elves wrap them since I’ve never really seen unwrapped presents under the trees.

3. Colored lights on tree/house or white?
Colored on the house…looks like a gingerbread house. Or white looks pretty too., but not on trees.

4. Do you hang mistletoe?
Yup. But it’s only used by my parents.

5. When do you put your decorations up?
The Sunday afternoon after Thanksgiving…oh my word that’s tomorrow!! Yay!

6. What is your favorite Christmas dish (excluding dessert)?
French Toast Strata, our Christmas morning breakfast. With homemade apple cinnamon syrup and cream cheesy goodness. Yum.

7. Favorite Christmas memory as a child:
Probably the time my mom hosted a pageant party at our house when I was wee five year old. I was Mary and Joe played Joseph, of course. But he was being a stinker and wouldn’t say his lines so Mom had to take him out and spank him.

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa?
I’ve always known the truth...sadly...but I love the story of St. Nicholas.

9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve?
Yup. My parents always get us new pajamas for Christmas. So we open them Christmas Eve night so we have pretty new PJ’s to wear Christmas morning. Last year I got black silk ones with a green kimono jacket to put over the top. Purty!

10. How do you decorate your Christmas Tree?
It’s a long, delicate operation involving a tree, a grumpy dad, lots of lights that won’t work, excited kids, ornaments that break, and Christmas music on the radio. Fun times!

11. Snow! Love it or dread it?
Muwah! I looove snow!!

12. Can you ice skate?
Yup...I love it. But why does ice have to be harder than asphalt?

13. Do you remember your favorite gift?
I’ve gotten so many I’ve loved I couldn’t possibly list them all…

14. What's the most important thing about Christmas for you?
God and man today became
More in tune than fife and drum,
So be merry while you play…

15. What is your favorite Christmas dessert?
Apple pie! And rosettes. And strudel. And Christmas cookies. And fudge. Lots of fudge.

16. What is your favorite Christmas tradition?
Going to the Christmas Eve service at my church on Christmas Eve and then driving around the neighborhoods looking at the all the lights, then coming back to eggnog, strudel, and the aforementioned pajama presents.

17. What tops your tree?
A really really old Swedish angel made out of paper. It’s so pretty.

18. Which do you prefer: giving or receiving?
The expression on your brother’s face when he opens the joke gift he never wanted: Priceless.

19. What is your favorite Christmas song?
Ohhh…gosh, I love “The Holy and the Ivy”, “Pat-a-pan”, and “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentleman”. For fun I like “Feliz Navidad” and “Stop the Cavalry”. That one’s fun to dance to. And “Light the Menorah” is fun even though it’s not technically a Christmas song…lol.

20. Candy Canes?
Yum.

21. Favorite Christmas movie:
“How the Grinch Stole Christmas” (the OLD animated version, mind you), “A Christmas Story”, “A Christmas Carol” (the Muppet version!) and of course, “It’s a Wonderful Life”. We watch that one every year.

The Necessity of Peace (Untitled)

2006-11-19T21:12:00.000-08:00

In my Art Appreciation class, I had to make an 'iconographic collage'--a collage of images (no words allowed!) that represented something I feel strongly about and my view on the subject. So here is the collage, the one I hear my Dad was boasting about at church. I present my view rather subtly through a time line of sorts of WWII in the Pacific. I've always been intrigued by this war 'cause my grandfather fought in it. Anyway, these are all pretty amazing pictures I found to make this collage. Each one has a background and a story. If you're curious, ask. :)

2006-11-05T21:08:00.000-08:00

The Japanese businessman:

A stereotype renowned the world over for his professionalism, loyalty, endurance...and mad catnapping skills.

*yawn* Great. Now I feel sleepy...

I'm so proud of me!!

2006-11-02T22:07:00.000-08:00

Today is a special day, because today I was able to use my scanty knowledge of Japanese to translate an actual Bible verse into Japanese!!! I am so happy. It's so cool! Here it is:

"Watashi no chichi no uchi ni takusan no heya ga arimasu." --John 14:2

translation:

"In my father's house there are many rooms." --John 14:2

literal translation (it's so funny!):

'In the house of my father lots of rooms have their existence.'

Anyway, yay! Finally, I'm able to puzzle out sentences on my own. The fact that the first one I did was from the Bible makes it all the sweeter. :)

~L

2006-10-31T21:48:00.000-08:00

A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing;
Our helper He, amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing:
For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe;
His craft and power are great, and, armed with cruel hate,
On earth is not his equal.

Did we in our own strength confide, our striving would be losing;
Were not the right Man on our side, the Man of God’s own choosing:
Dost ask who that may be? Christ Jesus, it is He;
Lord Sabaoth, His Name, from age to age the same,
And He must win the battle.

And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us,
We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us:
The Prince of Darkness grim, we tremble not for him;
His rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure,
One little word shall fell him.

That word above all earthly powers, no thanks to them, abideth;
The Spirit and the gifts are ours through Him Who with us sideth:
Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also;
The body they may kill: God’s truth abideth still,
His kingdom is forever.

"...something very like courage."

2006-10-27T15:40:00.000-07:00

The Last Supper, Tintoretto

Jockeys Before the Race, Degas

The Swing, Fragonard

Pygmalion and the Galatea, Jean-Leon Gerome

The Treason of Images, Rene Magritte

The Birth of Venus, Sandro Botticelli

Oath of the Horatii, Jacques David

Nebamun Hunting, from Egyptian tomb

These are just some favorite pieces of art in no particular order that I've studied so far. If I were to explain why they're my favorites, I should take up my whole blog space.

Which ones do you like? Or dislike, for that matter?

~L

Bird Senses the Essential Insanity

2006-10-14T15:40:00.000-07:00

Yes, I spent the day at an art museum Friday. The Seattle Asian Art Museum, to be exact. It's a great place. Large enough to have lots of different exhibits, but small enough you can see it all in one afternoon and not be overwhelmed. To give you a taste of what I encountered there, I have put the title of an abstract painting I found there in the title of this post. And you know what? It didn't even look like a bird.

I loved all the Buddhist statuary there. There was a very wise old Buddha that looked more frog than human, and a curly-haired, Roman-chinned one, and one I thought was Mary for an instant, and even a baby Buddha in a playsuit. I also loved the temple guardians: fat little samurai, all gilt and ferocious. My favorite though was a little Indra from Nepal, which is pictured. He's just sitting so cheeky. I if were an Eastern god, I'd sit like that when I demanded offerings of peeled grapes and such.

The abstract WWII art was really fun. My mom went up to this one that looked like something and said, "Is that an owl?" "Yes," I said, reading the title, 'Owl'. "Oh good," my Mom sighs. I laughed so hard, and people were staring. Fun stuff.

There was also a short film going on that had creepy music and seemed to be about trees, Islam, and women. We were like, ugh. That sounds weird. But then it finished and two very old and proper ladies came out. "That was scary." says one. "It sure was. Very scary." When they were gone my mom says, "Leah, let's go watch it!" "Ok!" so we watched it. It was scary. Very scary. It was on two screens one on either end of a long dark room, so I kept whipping my head back and forth to watch both. On one screen was a woman in a tree, and on the other was a herd of silent men in black running through a desert. Very profound, you see.

Also we saw a lot of people. A guy riding his bike pellmell down all the hills with a giant African tribal drum strapped to his back. Another guy carrying a tiki man half his size. An older Asian gentleman falling asleep in the museum cafeteria, leaning precariously out of his chair. He would have fallen off entirely if I hadn't woken him up just in time by accidently stumbling over my own chair. And on the way home, we had the delight of listening to a very entertaining conversation between the busdriver and a passenger concerning the antics of kittens, the fellow's mother, and an elderly Italian gentleman in a wheelchair.

We left our car in Poulsbo and went by bus and ferry and more buses to the museum, and of course we stopped to feed French Fries to the seagulls at Ivar's and dropped in to see how the mummies and shrunken heads were doing in Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe. My mom and I realized we hand't been out for fun for a long time. So yeah, it was a cracker day.

I've always wondered...

2006-10-10T13:42:00.000-07:00

Jenn always finds such fun stuff...so I can steal it. ;)

IF YOUR LIFE WAS A MOVIE, WHAT WOULD THE SOUNDTRACK BE?

So, here's how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button

Opening Credits:
Moonlight Sonata- Beethoven (cool!)

Waking Up:
Si Volvieras A Mi- Josh Groban

First Day At School:
Leibestraum- Franz Liszt (oookay…)

Falling In Love:
Hawaii Five-O –the Ventures (lol…)

Fight Song:
Mi Ya Hi -O-Zone (YESS!!)

Breaking Up:
Rejection- Fiddler on the Roof soundtrack (hahaha…wow.)

Prom:
Greensleeves- Vaughan Williams (wow funny)

Life's OK:
You Are Loved- Josh Groban

Mental Breakdown
Amarantine- Enya (well it’s soothing I guess)

Driving:
Remember When it Rained- Josh Groban

Flashback:
Broken Vow- Josh Groban (odd)

Getting Back Together:
Never Let Go- Josh Groban (how cool is that?)

Wedding:
Shiver Me Timbers- Muppet Treasure Island soundtrack (ahahahahahahaaa!!!)

Birth of Child:
I Like to Move it Move it- Erick Morillo (oh. weird.)

Final Battle:
The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny- Lemon Demon (HA how fitting!)

Death Scene:
Do You Love Me?- Fiddler on the Roof soundtrack (aw how sweet! *sniff sniff*)

Funeral Song:
Balla da Li- Boom Boxx (meh. That doesn’t fit at all!)

End Credits:
To Life!- Fiddler on the Roof soundtrack (that’s a great song to end with!)

These you have loved...

2006-09-30T12:23:00.000-07:00

I just realized it's been forever since I posted artwork of mine.

Meet Dr. Zhivago, from "Dr. Zhivago". I absolutely love that book and the movie was just as beautiful. I nearly had tears when I first heard "Lara's Theme"...I had never heard it before but it was as if the book had been turned into a piece of music. It was perfect. So yeah...I just had to draw Omar Sharif as this Russian poet. He was pretty straightforward and easy--except his multiple coats were cause for much grief. I'd finished his head and I wanted to be done with it, but no, I had to draw in all these coats. Oh well. It's cold in Russia. :)

Oh, and I am working on a portrait of Lara. :)

~L

It's raining candy!

2006-09-22T12:26:00.000-07:00

Never mind the title. It makes a terrible pun when it's in Japanese.
I'm really enjoying Japanese class at OC by the way. I'm so glad my parents let me take it. It's exciting, because it's really the only class that's a real challenge. Kawasaki-sensei is very funny and nice, although she does not understand the meaning of 'weekend': "We have many days before next class, so-o, I give you more homework!" I just love it though. It's such a humble, artistic language. They not only have words for 'this' and 'that' but also two others that mean 'something close to the speaker but far from the listener' and 'something far from the speaker but close to the listener'. Each presents a different viewpoint and way of thinking and looking at things. And the alphabet...the hiragana. Not only is there is a certain stroke order for each letter, but there are different kinds of strokes: my favorite is the harai stroke, which is a graceful, trailing motion. Harai means "let go".

The picture is my favorite photograph we've studied in Art Appreciation. It's an absolutely fascinating photograph. I could stare at it for hours, and find new things to think about it each minute. One of my fellow students said it looks like the back of a boxer. It's actually a pepper, in case you were wondering.
I absolutely love this class. I realized when I started it that I had a very narrow view of art. Now don't think I'm going liberal on yall, it's just I'm learning to appreciate and see meaning in art I wouldn't necessarily want hanging in my living room. It's really about learning the history and background of the artists. When I know that, their art makes sense and I find out, hey, what was I thinking? This is art just as much as the Mona Lisa is! It's very interesting. And some of the art is just breath-taking, and some is creepy, and some is downright laughable. The teacher is fun too. Once when we couldn't figure out who did a certain painting, she said, "Alright I'll give you a clue. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles." At first I was like, What? And then I said, "Michelangelo!" and that was the answer. heehee. Fun stuff.

English 101 is weird, but with each class I figure out more of what it's about. So far it's about discourse communities, which is a very interesting concept. The idea is that we exist in multiple discourse communities and have a different way of talking and listening for each one. Church is a discourse community. Home is one, Frisbee is one, Japanese class is another. For instance, I say certain things in Japanese class that I would not say to someone at church. I would say, "Onegaishimasu" to Kawasaki-sensei at the beginning of class, but I would not say it to Russ at the beginning of Sunday School. Well I might but that's beside the point. You know, you speak a certain way for each situation you find yourself in. It's all very interesting, and the only thing I have to figure out now is how it'll help me write college-level stuff. But it's only the first week. Hopefully that will come soonishly.

So those are my classes, and I like them all. I like the people too. I've made a few friends...but oddly enough they're all guys. The girls at OC aren't very social for some reason. I can't make them out. That's ok though. Guys are interesting. Two of my acquaintances are in Japanese class: one is taking the class because his Japanese wife told him he's learning the language too slowly. Another is half Japanese and so just wants to learn all the things his mother didn't teach him. Oh, and I did talk to Peter Knuckles! (this guy in two of my classes. The teachers mispronounce is name every time and it's just hilarious. I probably didn't spell it right.) It turns out he's an artist of some sort. He likes drawing eyeballs. I've also got a friend in English, Zach, who's very friendly but has odd tastes in music. He can't decide between punk rockish stuff and classical piano.

So that's OC Poulsbo so far...but I've got to go. I really should practice those hiragana some more. Monday comes early...
Ja mata ne!

~L

Wilder days

2006-09-02T20:07:00.000-07:00

Ah, summer...

Well, yours truly will be leaving tomorrow on a vacation that marks the end of this happy season. I might as well say what I've been doing all this time. This summer, I have had the pleasure of:

-getting my driver's permit, and completing a Driver's Ed course

-getting braces

-celebrating my youngest brother's first birthday

-hiking until I never wanted to ever again in the beautiful Olympic mountains with some of my gal pals

-winning Best of Show and Best of Class in some artwork I entered in our County Fair

-painting Harry Potter scars and butterflies on kids' faces for an afternoon at the Bainbridge Island library

-reading Doctor Zhivago for the first time, and also discovering the film. I now feel so poetic and refulgent!

-watching Pirates of the Caribbean 2, which was rather disappointing

-having British cousins over...that was just crackers!

-consuming a weekly dose of heavenly baklava

And these are just the best parts. After our vacation, we will begin a new school year and the many other pursuits we do to make sure we're always nice and busy. Then I shall be able to write about things like how I'm liking my college classes and what I plan on doing next year...until then,

Fare thee well! Enjoy what is left of these wilder days...

The Gentle Infidel

2006-08-22T10:58:00.000-07:00

“There is a season in autumn, called Mehltem by the Turks, when a steady, cold wind from the northeast begins to blow. Rising over the barren steppes of Krim Tartary, it sweeps across the Black Sea, driving a tide of hissing billows before it….”

So begins The Gentle Infidel, a rousing historical fiction by Lawrence Schoonover, a beautiful story of life, love, and redemption, that deserves a place between your copies of Ben-Hur and Quo Vadis.

With a broad, sweeping brush the author paints a vivid picture of Constantinople in its last days, and the Turkish Empire at the height of its power that brought Eastern Christendom to its knees. Caught in the midst of tangly political intrigues in which History is decided, and the everlasting conflict between East and West, Christian and Moslem, is a young Venetian man named Michael. As part of a tax imposed on “Infidels” that demands every fifth boy, Michael da Montelupo is separated from his Christian family as a child and raised to be a Turkish warrior in the Sultan’s janissary corps. As a noble and fearless Moslem leader he spends his young life fighting the Christians and having sultry affairs with exotic Egyptians, but then—by the strangest of chances, he meets a beautiful Christian girl he remembers from his distant Christian childhood…and the rest may be read in the book.

This is a timeless and timely book, very interesting for me because I think the author presents a very accurate picture of how Christians and Jews lived under a Moslem regime. A person living as a rayah—a Christian or Jewish subject under Moslem law—is required to be as socially invisible as possible. They must dress in somber, dark clothing and paint their houses black or grey. They may not ride horses or camels. They must not be seen in the streets during the calls to prayer. To do nearly anything—trade, farm, leave or enter cities, bury their dead—they must procure written permission from the Moslem government. Sometimes the little clashes between rayah and Moslems in the book were rather amusing: the Turkish characters are by turns embarrassed and excited by the shameful ‘nudity’ of the Christian women who do not cover their faces. The Christians absent-mindedly offer wine to their shocked Moslem guests, who generally accept it if they didn’t think their Moslem fellows would find out. A dignified Moslem guest in a Christian home secretly spends some time bouncing around on the springy foreign bed which he finds very queer and funny.

But every conflict in the book, whether grand or trivial, resonates from a deep chord of an undying struggle that has gone on for centuries and is still being acted out in our own times. There are still Moslems who would like to conquer the world and stamp out the Infidel, and there are still Christians who meet them with strength, valor, and yes, even love…

Beauty itself in edible form

2006-08-15T17:14:00.000-07:00

I love cantaloupe...

When I was little, I enjoyed giving people what I called, "cantaloupe-fives" as opposed to a high-five. To give a cantaloupe-five, one makes one's hand into a fist and smacks it momentarily against the knuckles of another's fist, whilst both parties announce, "Cantaloupe!"

I could think of no better way to honor my favorite fruit than by naming a friendly salutation after it.

There are few specimens of the vegetable kingdom that rival the noble cantaloupe, the "Netted Gem", in terms of quality of flavor, juiciness, and overall goodness. Brought from Armenia to Italy in the 1700's (where the humble muskmelon assumed the name, "Cantaloupe") and to North America in 1494, it has remained a favorite sort of thing to eat ever since. And why shouldn't it? Cantaloupe is about the best fruit in the world, and I sing its praises because my mom lately brought home a pair of very nice ones, just ripe for eating--the very scent emanating from the stony rinds was irresistible. Really, if you wanted to eat a fruit, why not try a slice of cantaloupe, the ideal? The flesh is a beautiful smooth orange color, blending gently to an Oriental green near the rind. Its fragrance is sweet and softly exotic. But it is when one actually bites into the flesh that its true beauties are appreciated.

Firstly, the rind. Its netted texture is pleasing on the hands, and it is not unpleasant to handle particularly ripe ones because they do not soften so much as the plum or pear. Also the size ensures one will get an ample amount of fruit if one was to purchase just one, and yet it is small enough to be held and carried by a child.

Secondly there is the taste, and this may be the most exquisite thing about cantaloupes. It is sweet enough to be enjoyable, but neither is it bland, or the sort of the sweetness that leaves a bad aftertaste. It leaves one refreshed, satisfied, and even perfumes the breath slightly.

Thirdly, the texture--the fruit is not squitchy or quoggy like a peach, or hard on braces like apples, or much too drippy like an orange or stringy like the pineapple. It is dense enough to hold in its refreshing moisture without obliging one to make an effort to chew it. Unlike the watermelon, there are no seeds to look out for either--only a polite green strip to remind one that the rind is inedible.

What more could one want in a fruit? It makes the most sense to eat. Here's to God's marvel,

"Cantaloupe!"

running with pointy objects

2006-08-14T21:28:00.000-07:00

This is what happens, children, when you Google 'random'...

looking for a good read?

2006-08-08T15:12:00.000-07:00

Here's another great blog yall have to check out: Our Gang's Stories. This blog is for my little minions ahem siblings to post the brilliant things they write. Seriously, we have a few budding writers/poets in my family whose stuff is already quite good. The stories you'll find there have been edited by myself, under the close supervision of the authors. :)

~L

Friends of the ABC

Okinawa

東京・日光 Tokyo and Nikko! part 1

東京・日光 Tokyo and Nikko！part 2

Blondes Prefer Gentlemen

東京旅 - Travel to Tokyo

なんぱ and Other Problems

Every Day is an Adventure

写真ジャーナル・photo post!

Getting Ready - 準備

Napoleon in Egypt: Jean-Léon Gérôme and Going Abroad

あと一ヶ月しかない - One More Month

A Very Harry Potter Summer

Wondering

Getting Married...

Going to Japan!

The Great Tempura Incident

15 Books

A Fairly Odd (First) Couple

It's My Lumberjack Reading Keats!!

Why I Dislike American Masculinity

Howl's Moving Castle

Harmony

Kabuki

Ring of Bright Water

Like the fall weather...

How about a desert with your meal?

Chipmunk cheeks...

Cows have feelings, too!

June

Now is the winter of our discontent...

Sufferin' catfish!

Fix You

Disenchanted

The Garden of Gethsemane

Sensei

Eavesdropping

Nineteen

Rhapsodies

They cannot conquer forever!

Tears of the Saints

Back to autumn...

Honeymoonwalking

Swordfish

The Greatest Comandment and Imagination

Samurai flicks!

I finished Math class...

Crime and Punishment

One day in the life of Leah

Independence Day

Sayonara...

The Kite Runner

A great song...

Atlas Shrugged

I feel random, how 'bout you?

Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion!

The Samurai

Eh...wassup Doc?

I *heart* PLANKTON!!

Letters from Iwo Jima

1989--a Momentous Moment in History

The Wow List

Should auld acquaintance be forgot...

Merry Christmas!

Is Christmas a sin?

I score!

Finis...for now

SNOW!

It's beginning to look a lot like...

The Necessity of Peace (Untitled)

I'm so proud of me!!

"...something very like courage."

Bird Senses the Essential Insanity

I've always wondered...

These you have loved...

It's raining candy!

Wilder days

The Gentle Infidel

Beauty itself in edible form

running with pointy objects

東京・日光　Tokyo and Nikko! part 1

東京・日光　Tokyo and Nikko！part 2

あと一ヶ月しかない　- One More Month

I heart PLANKTON!!